Upon Thy Soul, I Lay Claim
by Ankha
Summary: It was all wrong. Their Destinies cut short. No hope of changing that. Or...was there? Journey with Arthur and Merlin as they are given a second chance at their Destinies and perhaps this time they can get it right.
1. I Refuse

A/N: So, it has been some time, but my I'm trying something new this year and hopefully it will work for me. I've recently gotten into Merlin though I haven't gotten through the first season yet. Still, I thought I might try this. Let me know what you think!

**Ch. 1-I Refuse**

No.

I refuse.

He is not theirs to take.

We have been through too much together. Too many lies. Too many deaths.

Too much pain.

I refuse to allow it to end like this.

Tears still flowed in rivers down my cheeks as I bent to place a kiss upon his brow before pressing my own against his cold one.

Kilgharrah said that Arthur will rise again, that I must wait and be patient.

I'm done waiting.

I was done the moment his heart ceased to beat.

Arthur will live again.

And this time...I will get it right.

**End Chapter 1**

A/N: Stay tuned to see what happens next!


	2. From the King's Point of View

**A/N: Sorry these got cut the first time that this was posted. Hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter and ones to come! Thank you to everyone who has already reviewed. You guys are awesome!**

**Disclaimer: (Can't forget this again) I don't own Merlin (I wish) otherwise I would have tortured Uther some more.**

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><p><strong>Ch. 2-From a King's Point of View<strong>

Yes.

I knew.

From the moment the blade slid into me, I knew there would be no escaping this. No miracle, last minute saves that Merlin somehow pulled from his seemingly endless bag of tricks that he tried to convince everyone (not very convincingly) was not magical.

What?

I'm not that oblivious.

I've long suspected something was different about Merlin. It was never anything I could readily put my finger on. He is, without a doubt the worst (best) manservant I have ever had. He is clumsy, disobedient, disrespectful…loyal, thoughtful, kind, and…

He is just…Merlin.

I'm glad I can spend these last moments with him, even as he does everything in his power to prevent the inevitable. Even with the end fast approaching I feel…safe. Safe with Merlin.

Even still his desperation worries me as it will no doubt lead him to do something irrevocably foolish.

I'm glad he finally told me though.

It makes me achingly wish that what I know now (every ache, lie, pain and sorrow) was what I knew then, the moment he'd stepped foot in Camelot. That I could take every instance that I hurt him away. And I have. Hurt him I mean. Sometimes it was intentional, but more often than not it wasn't. I want to make it up to him, show him what he truly meant to me.

Means to me.

His tears are warm as they drip from his cheek to mine and I can hear him chanting my name, pleading with me not to leave him.

And in that moment I no longer accept this.

This is not the end. This is not how it was supposed to go. I will not leave him, not this time. Even as the final darkness creeps closer, I gather myself to face it with, as Merlin would say, my usual prattish stubbornness.

Because no.

I refuse to go.

End of Chapter 2

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><p>AN: Again, all this stuff got cut. This is going to have various points of view (mostly Arthur and Merlin) but not quite the journal style that _All Hope Abandoned_ had. Stay tuned because the next chapter gets juicy!


	3. Let's Try this Again

**A/N: And now we are beginning to reach the nitty-gritty of the story. Hope you like! Thank you to everyone who reviewed because you guys rock!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, unfortunately.**

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><p><strong>Ch. 3-Let's Try this Again<strong>

What ever Arthur had expected of the afterlife, it was not that it would be a complete replica of his room. Well, _almost_, a complete replica.

Early morning sunlight beamed through his window, warming exposed skin, though thankfully not his face. Even as he felt himself slowly ascending from the darkness, it was the quiet "Good morning, sire," that slammed him back into reality with little grace. Without opening his eyes he rolled from his bed, falling easily into a defense crouch, the knife he kept under his pillow pointed directly at the intruder.

Who, when Arthur finally opened his eyes, turned out to be someone familiar.

Thomas.

Thomas had been one of many in a long line of menservants that Arthur had run through, though significant in one way.

He was the last before Merlin.

The one Merlin _replaced_.

He was part of the reason Arthur met Merlin in the first place.

And looking back on that now, it pulled a snicker from deep within the prince (king) because every word Merlin had spoken had been _true_. The silly warlock could have taken him apart with less than one blow. But he hadn't known that. No. He just went on poking the sleeping dragon.

And that thought only made Arthur snicker harder.

"Sire?" The tentative whisper sobered the king (prince) and brought him back to what was currently happening.

And that was that he was still threatening Thomas with a knife. He could almost hear Merlin's sarcastic, "Good going, clotpole."

Slowly, so as not to startle the man, Arthur rose from his crouch, twisting to drop the knife on the bed behind him.

"My apologies," and just great, the boy jumped, hadn't he ever apologized? Arthur inwardly cringed as no, of course he hadn't, he was a _prince_ (king). "I was having a nightmare."

Thomas bowed, wariness still lurking at the edge of his expression. "No harm, sire," he finally said. While refusing almost point blank to meet the prince's gaze he moved off to the wardrobe. "Your breakfast is ready, sire. What would you like to wear today?"

And it was ready. His breakfast. Steam still rising from the sausage and the butter visibly melting on the bread.

How can something smell so good when you're dead?

Arthur found his mouth opening without any conscious thought. "Leave."

Thomas tensed again and something in Arthur did as well. "Sire?" The wariness was back ten-fold.

Arthur found he could not tear his gaze away from the table where his breakfast lay so innocently. Mocking him with its steaming freshness.

"You are dismissed for the day. Report back first thing tomorrow morning."

Thomas bobbed his head with a quick, "Yes, sire," and scurried out the door, leaving Arthur alone.

The steam had long since ceased to rise from the traitorous food before the king-prince convinced himself that it was okay to touch, okay to move. But when he caught a fleeting glance of himself in the mirror, he once more froze.

No.

It couldn't be.

Turning fully away from the table, Arthur crossed the room in a few strides, staring in absolute disbelief at what his eyes were telling him.

He was young again.

Not that Arthur had been an old man when he died, but this was…this was the reflection of a boy-man on the cusp of reaching his full potential physically. He could just faintly remember Gauis once mentioning how women matured faster than men and how men reached their physical peak by the age of twenty-five.

He was definitely not twenty-five.

Not far from it if he were to guess, but obviously before it. Twenty perhaps? Struck with an idea, he quickly removed his sleep wear and gained a new surprise.

His scars were gone.

Oh, not _all_ of his scars, just all of the ones he had earned after Merlin had come. Most notably missing was the one from the Questing Beast.

How was this possible?

Abruptly turning from the lying reflection, he plunked down on the bed, narrowly avoiding skewering himself in the arse with his own knife. Putting his head in his hands, Arthur began to attempt to straighten out the chaos that was dominating his brain. Where to start?

With Thomas.

Or, rather, how was he not dead? Or was he dead and this was some sort of bizarre, after-life special heaven (hell)?

Best focus on the first.

After Merlin became his manservant, Thomas had gone on to faithfully serve Leon after the first knight's manservant had become too old to serve. Merlin had mentioned once or twice how the man had seemed very happy with his new placement (even if it didn't pay as well) and how Leon seemed pleased as well. Arthur knew he could trust this judgment because Merlin kept an unconsciously close tab on those within the castle and always brought any problems to Arthur's attention.

So was he going to spend his afterlife (was it the afterlife?) in a strange limbo with Thomas as a servant? When Merlin died, would that change? Could Merlin die? Arthur was beginning to wonder.

Which brought him to the second question. The last thing he remembered before being awoken by Thomas was dying in Merlin's arms and stubbornly refusing to allow it to end. He wanted to fix it for Merlin…

He bolted upright once more.

Fix it! Fix it from the beginning!

Rushing to the window, Arthur scanned the courtyard, straining to see as much as the view would allow. Everything seemed to be the same, but…a king knows every inch of his kingdom.

And this one was so very close.

The courtyard was the same, but missing subtle design changes made after the Great Dragon's attack. The city itself seemed…smaller, less lively though that might be attributed to the time of day. The training grounds had virtually remained unchanged over time except for the slight expansion that was missing into one of the higher hills that Arthur had made his knights run up and down.

It was so close, but this wasn't his kingdom. It was his father's. With Thomas as his manservant…was it real? Had his wish actually been granted?

Was he being given a second chance?

This was crazy! Or was it…magic?

End chapter 3

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><p>AN: Soooo...What's happened to Arthur? I'm not telling yet! Keep an eye out cause as we go on the chapters seem to steadily be getting longer. Let me know what you think, we authors live on reviews!


	4. His Destiny Arrives, Well Almost

**A/N: Here we go again! Please let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

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><p><strong>Ch. 4-His Destiny Arrives…Well Almost<strong>

Merlin found that, for all he had pushed himself over the last several days, he couldn't help but pause and admire the view.

Camelot.

It sprawled out before him, lazily and yet contained at the same time. The white stone of the castle gleamed brightly; the bright red flags bearing the Pendragon crest whipping playfully in the breeze. Though he could not see them from where he was, Merlin knew that several guards stood at attention at the open gates. Welcoming and forbidding. Hospitable and warning.

Home.

Merlin could not accurately pinpoint the moment Ealdor had ceased to claim that title, handing it neatly over to Camelot. It was some time after he'd drank the poison for Arthur and the prat-prince had risked his life to retrieve the cure. Definitely by the time he'd asked Kilgharrah to help him help Arthur defeat the wraith. It just seemed as though from one day to the next he had carved out his place (returned to it?) and was no longer homesick.

Because how can one be homesick when they are home?

It was after Ealdor and Will's death that Merlin realized that it was easy to leave former home and at the time he had been surprised at _how_ easy. Now he knew. It was not the place that was important (though never would he mention that Camelot wasn't important anywhere near Arthur) but the people that inhabited it. Sure, he missed his mother, but there was Gaius who he knew thought of him as his son; Gwen, who had been his first friend in Camelot; Lancelot (who would not die!) who had accepted him easily for who he was; Gwaine, his fierce defender (also not going to die!); Percival, Elyan, Leon…

Arthur.

The thought of his friend sent a shiver down his spine so strong his legs nearly buckled. This past week, after making certain that this _really was happening_, his main focus had been on returning to Camelot. It had practically been his _only_ thought and he knew that he'd worried his mother with his single-mindedness. But he couldn't explain it.

How could he? It shouldn't be possible.

But whomever had taken mercy on him and granted him this second chance wasn't telling (he might have done it, he still wasn't sure), but he was _not_ going to waste it.

But he had to get to Camelot first.

Now that his destination lay before him, he had a hard time making himself move forward. He knew he was at least a day ahead of schedule so perhaps now would be a good time to plan. Plan on getting it right this time. Plan on protecting Arthur.

A loud growl broke through his master planning and he glanced around sheepishly even though he was alone.

Maybe he should plan on eating first.

_Not again._

Arthur clenched his leg to still (for the fourth time) the restless tapping that was fast becoming a nervous habit. It was frankly alarming how many nervous habits he was picking up. Leg tapping. Finger drumming. Humming. Tugging on his ears. His. Ears. That was _Mer_lin's habit, not his!

The prince-king could feel a scowl settling over his features. Merlin. It all came down to him. How much longer was he going to be forced to wait? Would it even happen when and how it was supposed to?

He still wasn't entirely convinced this was real despite how it smelled, felt, tasted, looked and sounded.

Despite Uther and Morgana.

The first time he'd had to speak with his father, he'd nearly broken with the urge to hug the man and punch him in the nose simultaneously. How he escaped that meeting without giving anything away was something that still mystified him, but taking some time to examine it and his feelings, they made more sense. Uther was his father…but honestly, he'd never been very good at it. Knowing what he knew about his mother's death, Arthur imagined that Uther not only blamed magic, _but Arthur as well._

Oh not openly, never out loud. No, he did do it out loud-just not _directly_. It never made sense to him before. He had tried so very hard to gain his father's approval (what son didn't?), but nothing, absolutely _nothing_ the prince-king did was ever up to Uther's impossibly high standards. Every attempt offered was shattered at the foot of the throne with how it could have been done faster, smarter, _better_.

And Arthur…never really took the time to see how that effected him. Oh, it made more sense now that he was living it again (maybe living it again? Still not sure), and accounted for some of his more prattish attitudes. How much of it was naturally Arthur's personality and how much of it was shaped by Uther's constant disapproval?

He may never know.

As for Morgana…not a subject he was yet willing to contemplate.

He knew he had changed after Merlin had tackled his way into his life, but Arthur never really understood how much until he was confronted with those whom he used to…associate with. Arrogant sons of lords whose attitudes made Arthur twitch for his sword so that he might teach them some manners.

Had he really been like that? How had anyone been able to tolerate him? And how, _how_ had Merlin cured him of that?

By being his friend.

The simplest, yet most complex answer to that question. Merlin had done what no other person, not even his father or Morgana, had done. Treated him as Arthur. Not the crown prince of Camelot, heir to the throne, knight and champion of the realm. Arthur.

And that, he knows made all the difference. Who knew, it might be even better this time. If they were actually getting another chance, he still wasn't entirely convinced. Probably wouldn't be until he saw his warlock again.

Aaaaand that led back to the nervous habits. As much as he wanted to see Merlin again (now, no, yesterday preferably) he wasn't sure what he would do when he _did_. Would Merlin be like everyone else (worst case scenario) and not remember any of what had happened before or (best case) remember like Arthur did? Frankly, the king-prince was worried that he would lose all sense of propriety (not that he ever had much with Merlin) and knock the man-boy over in a hug and refuse to let go for ooooooh at least a week. And wouldn't that just be terribly awkward if Merlin didn't remember?

Ugh. He was turning into such a _girl_ over this.

This was all Merlin's fault.

End Chapter 4

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><p>AN: Hello? *peaks out* Will you let me know what you think? I love your reviews!


	5. Together Once More

**A/N: *Hugs everyone* Thank you for all those lovely reviews! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this! It makes me happy that you like my little experiment to get back into writing. Thank you so much! Hope that you enjoy this too!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately.**

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><p><strong>Ch. 5-Together Once More<strong>

Strange, tense, wary, apprehensive…slightly disappointed?

Merlin couldn't lay an exact name on how he was feeling when he entered Camelot just in time to see the same execution of the sorcerer that he had witnessed the first time around. Disconcerting? Definitely that. Seeing Uther high above, once more proclaiming the evils of magic, sent ripples of tension through the young-again warlock. He still had nightmares caused by that man. Of all the beings that Merlin had encountered and fought over the years, the former-present king of Camelot was perhaps the most fear-inducing.

What did that say about the man?

The all-sweeping rage that burned through his veins when that…that…that _hag_ threatened Arthur was in some ways both surprising and not. He knew that he put Arthur above all others, even himself, more often than not and as such was highly, obsessively, possessively protective of him. Oh, it hadn't always been like that of course, but over the years, Arthur became…his for lack of a better phrasing. The fact that the hag even thought she had the right to target the prince when it was clearly _Uther_ who was to blame, well…

No, actually, that made sense. Arthur was targeted because of Uther _all the damn time_ and that hadn't even let up when the man died! Because really, killing the son to extract revenge on the dead was such a logical thing to do!

He had slapped his forehead over it more than once.

When it came to protecting Arthur, Merlin knew he had never been very logical or rational and it only seemed to get worse as the years went on. Still, it surprised him how swiftly he became angry over the threat, especially since he knew (had a vague idea) of how it was to play out and she wouldn't win. She hadn't last time.

And she wouldn't this time.

Gathering himself back to the present (past?) Merlin glanced up and took a deep breath.

Step one: Get to Camelot. Done.

Step two: Gaius.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

Over the years, Gaius and he had become family. Though Balinor had been the one to help bring him into this world, Merlin was never allowed the chance to know him. Growing up, he had been one of the very few in the village with one parent, and while that made him stand out, he at least hadn't been entirely alone. His mother had been wonderful and raised him the best that she could. He could honestly say that he could have asked for no one better.

But Gaius…Gaius had filled a role in his life that he hadn't even been aware that he was lacking. Teacher, mentor, role-model…father. Though the physician had never spoken the words aloud, Merlin knew the man thought of him as his son. Actions did speak louder than words after all. The thought of having to start all-over with that was both exciting and disheartening. Merlin really wanted nothing more than to sit down and discuss what he thought was happening.

He probably would have to before too long. Merlin knew he would relax and then say or do something that would be suspicious. If the older man knew ahead of time, he would, at best, get a scolding.

On second thought, he might just put it off just a little longer. How Gaius managed to make one feel as though they were five and caught stealing sweets from the kitchen, the warlock didn't know, but it had to magic. Surely.

Yep, definitely magic.

Keeping that thought in mind, he allowed the scene of their first meeting to play out just it had the first time around, though he made sure the door was shut this time.

One could never be too careful.

He was here, wasn't he?

Arthur did not know the precise date of when Merlin arrived, only that it coincided closely with the execution of the sorcerer who had been caught fixing a cart wheel with magic and the threat from his mother against Arthur's own life. It burned the king-prince's gut to allow the travesty of injustice to be carried out and he blamed himself for not being more aware of what was going on around him. He'd come back between the man's capture/sentencing, and the actual execution itself. He hadn't even been aware it was going to happen until his father mentioned it and by then it was far too late to do anything.

Arthur forced himself to watch the man's death, silently promising him that it would not happen again. It drove home just how cruel and unreasonable on the subject of magic his father had become. A wound he had allowed to fester for twenty years and it was not the king, but all those around him that suffered for it. Arthur, Gaius, Morgana, Merlin…

Merlin.

What his father would do to Merlin if he ever discovered what Arthur's (future?) manservant was capable of was chilling. Nightmare inducing. Not that Arthur would allow it to happen; he would take on his father first. And that was just another worry because it could very well come down to that one day.

Uther would have to go through Arthur before he ever laid a hand on Merlin.

The prince-king wondered if he should be worried over how detached he was becoming from his own father. Uther was still his father…but somehow not. If nothing else, time and death (Uther's and his own) had allowed him the space he needed to evaluate just how he felt on this subject and the more thought he gave it, the more sympathy he had for Morgana.

Not that he was being driven to patricide. He wasn't that desperate. With any luck, he never would be.

Besides, Morgana was a whole castle worth of issues by herself, which led Arthur to avoiding her as much as possible. He knew his sister had noticed, if the narrow-eyed gaze was anything to go by, but he intended to keep it up for as long as possible. He just wasn't ready to face that witch of an issue.

But, on to other important matters. Namely his warlock.

It was oh so tempting to march down to Gaius's chambers and demand to see his former (present?) servant, but how exactly was he going to explain himself? Arthur could just picture how the conversation would go.

**Arthur would burst into the physician's chambers, probably upsetting Gaius's work or an experiment in the process, irritated and demanding all at once.**

** "Where is he?"**

** Gaius would be, understandably, irritated in turn because of said ruined experiment/potion-making and level a look in the prince-king's direction that would stop many knights in their tracks. "Whom are looking for, sire?" And just like that, Arthur would feel all of eight years old again and caught digging through Gaius's herbs.**

** Not to be put off, despite the off-putting not-glare he was receiving, Arthur would draw himself up to his full, majestic height and demand again. "Who else? Merlin of course! He's exasperatingly late this morning and his list of chores is only growing." The king-prince would peer around the room as though expecting Merlin to pop out from under the table, or out of a book.**

** And here would be the problem. "Sire, who is Merlin? I'm afraid I don't know anyone by that name." A closer look. "You haven't hit your head recently, have you, sire?"**

No, but he had died, and just how was he supposed to explain that?

So Arthur had to restrain himself from doing something drastic and patiently bide his time until his warlock-manservant decided to make himself known. He could be patient. He could wait. It was not a problem. Except for the nervous habits that seemed to crop up every other hour everything was absolutely fine!

After he acknowledged that patience, at least in this case, was not his forte, Arthur began to look at the situation he'd landed himself in as a hunt or patrol. Assess the situation. Locate the problem. Eliminate if necessary. It kept his mind from straying too much in Merlin's direction, though he often found himself glancing over his shoulder with a comment for the man only to find the place his manservant normally occupied alarmingly absent. Arthur tried not to let it get to him. If any of the knights had noticed his new habits, they had wisely chosen to keep their peace, though Leon had approached him once to inquire about how he was feeling. The prince-king had been warmed by the man's concern for even though he had known the man for years, he never got to _know_ him until after Merlin. Merlin's fault? Yes, of course it was the idiot's fault. Thankfully.

This morning somehow felt different, the king-prince knew that the moment Thomas had awakened him. The day was…brighter, fresher, and more alive? Was that even possible? The blond royal didn't know for certain, but he could not shake the feeling that it was going to be a good day. No. _Fantastic._

That feeling didn't decrease even when he found himself once more stuck with the miscreants that masqueraded as nobles (these idiots thought they were going to make it to be knights? Hah! Not likely.), but he positioned himself at the outer edge of their circle, observing. Trying to fit into his old life, especially before Merlin, was extremely…tiring. Too much so to make any real effort, so Arthur had chosen to do the next best thing. He had withdrawn, excusing himself whenever it was possible. The others had wondered at first, but after a bland smile and "I've just got a lot on my mind," or "Reviewing policies my father asked me to look into, would you mind listening?" It was so very hard to suppress a snicker over how fast they scrambled to get away from the last one. Keeping an extra eye on the servants around the idiots followed suit and Arthur found himself intervening more than he would like over how they were being treated. At some point they were going to push him too far and Arthur wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he wouldn't regret it.

"You're supposed to be a moving target!"

And oh look, it seemed as though that moment had finally arrived. The noble idiots had decided to pick on Thomas, which fired off plenty of the king-prince's protective instincts. While the boy might not be Merlin, he was good at what he did and was only now started to relax somewhat around him. Pushing himself away from the post he'd been leaning against, Arthur began his march towards the rowdy group to extract his (current) manservant from the trouble he'd stumbled into. So intent on his destination was he, that when the voice that rang out clearly across the field caught him completely by surprise.

"All right, that's enough."

Arthur tripped over his own feet, barely catching himself from sprawling on the ground. That voice! Why was he hearing that voice? Because there he was.

Merlin.

His warlock was helping Thomas to his feet, gripping his elbows to keep him steady as he regained his balance. It finally occurred to Arthur just what was happening. They had made it to The First Meeting (even if it seemed as though it wasn't an exact copy of the first). The fiercely stern glare that marred the other's countenance was oddly more frightening this time around (or had he glared? He couldn't remember). And strangely, it made the blond royal think of Gaius. Probably who he had learned it from.

"And just who are you?" one of the idiots sneered.

Merlin matched his sneer with a cold smile and the hairs began to rise on the back of Arthur's neck. This…this…why was it so much scarier this time around? "I'm the one stopping you from proving just how much of an ass you are."

And well shit. Arthur finally found it in himself to propel forward, neatly placing himself between the nobles and his servants. Merlin glanced up from his staring contest and froze when their eyes met. His mouth opened, silently forming one word, or rather, one name.

'Arthur.'

Why was he nervous?

Merlin knew that a great deal of what happened during their first meeting was down to pure happenstance and good timing. He wasn't entirely sure if he could recreate what had happened (should he?), but was mortally frightened of what would happen if he didn't. If Merlin didn't insult him during their first meeting, would the good-nature bantering relationship that would grow from it happen? Or, when he saved his life at the feast, would he just be courteously appreciative, never having the chance to move beyond that stage to something more? Friendship, brotherhood, family…more?

And how, exactly, was he going to hold himself in check around his king (for Arthur would always be his true king, not Uther), when he was already making slip-ups around Gaius? As much as Merlin liked to snicker over the man's obliviousness, Arthur had a tendency to be frighteningly astute at the absolute worst moments. Considering the warlock's luck, or lack thereof, it wouldn't be long before his king became suspicious and asked the wrong questions at the right time. Merlin wasn't sure he would be able to keep his secrets for very long this time around and the thought of once more having to conceal his true nature from Arthur turned his stomach sour to the point he'd lost his lunch more than once.

Gaius was very concerned.

But today was different. He'd known that the moment he'd risen, late, from his bed. Since his arrival two days ago, he had yet to see crown prince (king?) and he didn't want to admit, not even to himself, that he might being doing his best to avoid the man. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Arthur, he did! More than anything! It was like an itch that he desperately wanted to scratch and he had drawn more than one measuring look from the court physician over his jittery nature. It was in his favor that Gaius was still trying to get a feel for his personality. And just how would the man take it when he relaxed after finally getting to see his king? Or, would he relax? It was possible that the meeting might make his jittery nature worse!

After breakfast (Gaius, please learn to cook!) he went about his new (old) duties as assigned by the court physician, all the while trying to wrangle what the nagging at the back of mind could mean. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary during his deliveries, but it wasn't until his return trip that he finally realized exactly what was going on.

It was the laughter.

Unbidden from the depths of mind rose the picture of Arthur and his first meeting. Throwing knives, a runaway shield, a frightened servant (Thomas), the dungeons, the stocks…Arthur. It was happening; it was happening now!

Picking up his pace, Merlin strode through the gateway just in time to see (and hear) the solid _thunk_ of knife imbedding itself in a round shield. Thomas's yelp and stumble made him move faster, but what sparked the anger was the laughter. He stopped the rolling shield with his foot, and gently pulled the manservant to his feet.

Merlin turned a glare on the group. "All right, that's enough."

The nobles (Arthur, where was Arthur?) gaped at him in blank astonishment. Merlin wasn't terribly surprised. He doubted any of them had ever been properly called out on their atrocious behavior and certainly never by a peasant. But Merlin, too used to bringing it to Arthur's attention when he was being a royal prat, was not going to let this pass. It's not as though this were training with knights who knew what the hell they were doing. The warlock had to suppress a snort at the thought of any of these men becoming knights. Not even with magical help would that happen! Because, seriously, what would have happened if they had missed? Thomas could have been hurt!

And where the hell was Arthur?

"And just who are you?" one of them sneered, trying to save face.

Merlin sent him a cold smile because, honestly? Who was he trying to scare? The warlock had met scarier squirrels. Those animals were downright vicious (and creative) when it came to their food. These miscreants…just no, not frightening one bit.

"I'm the one stopping you from proving just how much of an ass you are."

And, all right, this was likely not his best plan, but these idiots were seriously starting to piss him off. What gave them the right to pick on the servants in such a way, especially Arthur's servant?

It better not have been Arthur.

Before he could plan just how he was going to get himself (and Thomas) out of this situation, a new person inserted himself between the servants and the nobles. Merlin broke off his staring contest with the morons to see who was brave enough to put himself in the line of fire, and abruptly felt the world tip sideways the moment he locked onto that familiar blue gaze. Because there he was.

Arthur.

Merlin knew. Merlin remembered! If it wouldn't have been so undignified, the prince-king would have snatched the man up and spun him in a gleeful circle because finally! He was here! And best of all, he seemed to remember!

But the smile that was threatening to form against Arthur's wishes soon fell away as his warlock rapidly lost what little color he possessed and began to sway on the spot. Both Thomas and he quickly latched onto an elbow each when the dark-haired not-manservant threatened to crumple where he stood.

"Are you well?" Thomas ventured, worried about his unlikely savior. Merlin couldn't seem to answer him, too focused on Arthur.

All right. So Merlin remembered and it seemed to be causing some sort of mental breakdown. Right! Arthur needed to get them someplace secluded as soon as possible.

"Sire! Did you hear? The insolence! He must pay!" Sir Orvin shouted, hand outstretched to snatch-up Merlin.

Arthur jerked back, pulling Merlin out of the man's reach. "And he will," he ground out, wanting nothing more than to be away from here or, barring that, throwing knives at Sir Orvin to see how much he liked it. "I'll see to it myself. Thomas," he turned away from the nobles, clearly dismissing them, "make certain my chambers are tidied and then see to Gaius. Tell him Mer-his ward will be occupied until further notice."

The man offered a bewildered nod, sparing one more worried glance in Merlin's direction, before scurrying off to fulfill his assignments. One hand on the warlock's elbow and the other fisted in the back of his jacket, Arthur set off across the outer yards with a purpose, dragging the stumbling man behind him. Mentally reviewing over all the places he could let this happen, the blond royal couldn't help the internal grimace. Place after place was discarded as too open, not secure or too busy. Ideally the best place for this place for both their breakdowns (for Arthur didn't doubt it was going to take place, feeling his nipping at the edge of his mind) would be the king-prince's own chambers but that was too risky. It just wasn't possible to get Merlin there without someone asking pointed questions and when he didn't leave again (because frankly, Arthur wasn't certain he would be able to let the man out of his sight right now) those questions would take on a sword's edge.

So, the best Arthur could do on such short notice (and why, why had he not planned for this?) was the armoury. Not the ideal, but far better than many of his other choices and almost guaranteed to be empty at this point in the day. And if it wasn't, well, he wasn't above fixing that.

Decision made, Arthur shifted their course, continuing to drag the stumbling, but unresisting man with him. The prince-king failed to keep a frown from creasing his face, worry biting at the edge of his thoughts. What was wrong with Merlin? Why had he just frozen when he saw Arthur?

Could it…could it be because the last time they saw one another Arthur had…died? Had he died? It was so confusing! The growl he released sent those in his path skittering out of the way with widened eyes. Honestly, he didn't care that he sounded like an angry dragon because he was going to finally get some answers!

Hopefully. Part of him was doubtful, given Merlin's reaction.

At last, the armory! Propelling them both through, Arthur released Merlin long enough to lock the door behind him and prowl around the room, poking in all its corners to make certain they wouldn't have an unwanted audience. From the corner of his eye, he could just see the warlock tracking his every movement, eyes and expression trapped in some sort of turmoil the king-prince couldn't even begin to unravel. With his sense of privacy eventually satisfied, the warrior-king spun on his heel to face the raven-haired man head-on.

Merlin didn't seem inclined to move, or breathe for that matter, trapped in whatever pit of hell resided behind those ocean blue eyes. Those eyes, though, they were only for Arthur and the blond royal had a feeling that even if the world was collapsing down around them, Morgana, Morgause or the Great Dragon descending to decimate once more, Merlin wouldn't notice. Arthur wasn't too sure _he_ would notice either. It felt like drowning, staring at Merlin, but he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, but they were never going to get anywhere if they just _stared_. Honestly, wasn't the man happy to see him?

"Merlin?"

End Ch. 5

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><p>AN: I probably should have mentioned that I am evil. Especially with cliffhangers. Anyone who has read my work before knows that. Well, speculation time! What do you think will happen next? P.S. You guys leave awesome reviews, they're so fun to read. Thank you!


	6. Splintered Soul

**A/N: Here we are! Hopefully it lives up to the anticipation. Note: I noticed that my dividers I was using to switch back and forth between the points-of-view keep disappearing when they are being uploaded no matter how many times I put them back. I decided to let you know by name when they switch from now on. As always, let me know what you think cause you guys are awesome!**

**Disclaimer: There would have been a happy ever after if it were mine.**

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><p><strong>Ch. 6-Splintered Soul<strong>

Arthur.

Arthur.

_Arthur._

Arthurarthruarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthurarthur.

ARTHUR!

That word, that name, seemed to be the only thought that his brain could properly comprehend. The moment he'd locked eyes with his (alive!) king again, his mind had stuttered to a halt and everything else refused to pass through it but the other's name. How his king extracted him from being punished by the other nobles, he didn't know, (likely offering to punish Merlin himself, the prat) because it seemed his ability to hear, just like his brain, was no longer functioning properly.

Why did it sound as though he had bees trapped in his skull? Surely that couldn't be normal.

Brain functioning properly or not, Merlin's body was conditioned to follow Arthur's command and offered little resistance, and little help, as he was dragged away.

Arthur.

Arthur was _here_.

Arthur was _alive_.

Alive, breathing, conscious, mobile, in control….alive.

Merlin could not honestly think in that moment of a more beautiful word.

Part of him finally allowed him to realize that they had stopped moving (well, Merlin had anyway, Arthur continued to prowl), having reached their destination. That same part of him knew they were in the armoury, unable not to notice after having spent so many hours in the place, but that seemed unimportant. His king finally stopped pestering the corners of the room (like they were honestly hiding something, really Arthur?) and turned to face him, expression hopelessly anxious. Great dragons! If he'd looked like that out there before all of the nobles, they were in for some serious trouble later, that's for certain. And anxious? What did he have to be anxious for? Arthur was the one who had died, not him!

Unless…he was anxious over Merlin.

"Merlin?"

As though his name were the key to unlocking the warlock, Merlin splintered. Nearly literally. Leaping towards his king, the warlock wrapped his arms around the blond's neck and his gangly legs around his waist. Credit where credit is due, Arthur staggered somewhat under the sudden weight, but kept them both upright, actually pulling Merlin higher into a safer, more comfortable position. The dark-haired man barely noticed, too busy crying desperately into the other's shoulder.

It was just too much. Too bloody much.

Merlin had known from the moment that Kilgharrah had begun spouting off about Arthur's and his great Destiny that it was not going to be easy, and he would likely never get a moments peace. But the true horror (greatness) of that Destiny was never revealed all at once, only being released one agonizing piece at a time. Though there had been plenty of wonderful moments along the way, they were now overshadowed by the true reality of his failure. He'd failed the druids, the knights, Camelot, all of Albion.

But worst of all, he'd failed Arthur, his friend and king.

Arthur had died.

Oh, some small part of him had acknowledged that Arthur's death had always been part of their future, but it was never meant to happen before they could truly fulfill their Destiny. Or was it? Merlin had the sudden wild urge to march down to that know-it-all dragon and demand the whole truth this time, not prophecies sprinkled with riddles just to give him a headache and make them sound palatable. And if it was supposed to be part of this so-called Great Destiny, well…

Then Destiny would just have to find someone else; Merlin was keeping Arthur. Because his friend, his king would not be allowed to die this time; the warlock would see the world annihilated first. He knew that he should be worried about his feelings over the matter, that they weren't normal, but after having the other man die in his arms, he wasn't certain they would ever return to normal.

Because what was normal about being held by a man who had died in your arms in a previous life?

That would not happen again, Merlin vowed to himself as his magic swirled somewhat chaotically around them; Arthur would live.

Or Merlin would die trying to keep him that way. Again.

_**~Arthur~**_

Arthur wasn't certain what he had expected, but his (former?) manservant nearly tackling him to the ground was absolutely not it. The sudden addition of the man's weight, however slight, still sent the prince-king staggering back a moment with its suddenness before he rallied. One arm under Merlin's behind, the other around his waist, Arthur tugged him higher, redistributing his weight better. A quick glance around the room revealed a small pile of straw by the wall and Arthur walked them over, carefully lowering them onto it. With a sigh, he settled back against the wall, cradling the man who was now essentially straddling him. He raised the hand no longer supporting the warlock's behind to card through the raven hair.

This…this so was much worse than he had anticipated. Arthur had believed that they would engage in a rather embarrassingly long hug (hopefully out of the sight of others), shed a tear or two, maybe even yell at each other, but this…His shirt was rapidly becoming soaked through with Merlin's tears and it didn't seem as though the man was going to stop any time soon. Not that Arthur could have peeled him off of him what with the death grip the warlock had on his shirt and his legs still firmly locked around his waist despite the move. He was actually afraid that if he did tried to remove the man that Merlin wouldn't just crack open completely, hollowed out by what he was suffering.

The rawness of the reaction surprised the blond royal with its depth, but the longer they sat there, the faster the reality of the situation began to sink in. Based on Merlin's…distress was the kindest word…Arthur must have died. In Merlin's arms no less. It didn't answer the question of how they came to be back to the beginning of their relationship, but at least he was allowed to check off the most important question of Arthur's incredibly long list. How they were granted this second chance was now vying for the top, but deemed nonessential at the moment, faced with Merlin's pain. Having the most important person in your life (and arrogant or not, Arthur knew he was to Merlin) die in your arms…the king-prince could barely contemplate…but then he tried.

Arthur had many people that were close to him die during his lifetime, and many that he wished he'd known better die for him. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, picturing the different deaths he had suffered through. His father's? While his relationship with Uther was a tangled mess of lies, deceit, disappointments sprinkled with the joy of pride and happiness, when Arthur tried to visualize holding him as he died and being as devastated as Merlin, only a dull ache surfaced, the pain of that loss scarred over with time. Even if the wound of the loss had been fresh, Arthur knew it wouldn't be this potent. If his mother had lived, perhaps? It was hard to know how much pain a death would cause you when you were never granted the right to know them during your lifetime. And as much as Arthur valued his knights, their deaths would not draw this from him.

But what of Gwen?

Arthur was ashamed to say that how little thought he had given his wife since his return. He'd only caught a glance of her once or twice out of the corner of his eye, but he'd never felt the need to pursue, begin to recreate what they had had before. What would her death do to him? The king-prince took a deep breath and thought of finding Gwen, dying of a stab wound, trying to save her, but in the end only being able to hold her in his arms as she breathed her last. Gut-wrenching pain surrounded those thoughts, and he pushed them away as quickly possible, but even that could not produce what Merlin was suffering.

Perhaps it was his death, perhaps something else, but as much as he loved Gwen, he was reluctant to approach her. The need to protect her maybe? Being his Queen had made her the target of so many that wanted to stop Arthur and somehow that never sat right with Arthur. As his Queen, she should know only safety, not danger. Or he could be just too idealistic, but that's what he wanted for her. And while he knew she loved him, the specter of Lancelot never seemed too far away. If Lancelot had never left, would she have given Arthur another thought? He could admit now, that it was a thought that gnawed away at him at times in the middle of the night.

No. Time enough to give that due consideration another day. Gwen could wait; Merlin could not. As Arthur cast his mind back, he was suddenly struck by the memory of Merlin drinking poison for him, back when they had barely even known each other. Even then, so loyal, so willing to sacrifice himself (Arthur was going to have work on that) to protect Arthur. The horror of Merlin beginning to choke and the panic that it caused when he'd eventually collapsed was once more ignited in his veins. He seized in half-forgotten terror, clasping the warlock tighter to him as he finally understood. It was like being stabbed all over again, only this time with added evisceration.

His feelings for Merlin then were a mere puddle in relation to the yawning ocean they were now. The thought of the man dying and Arthur unable to prevent it, as he nearly had before, felt like being clawed open by a dragon, insides gleefully chomped on. Squeezing the dark-haired man tighter, the king-prince buried his face in the warlock's shoulder, attempting but failing to regain control of his breathing.

Not dead.

Merlin was here. Not dead.

Alive. In Arthur's arms. Safe. Protected. His friend. His advisor. His warlock. His friend. _His._ No one else's.

Not dead.

Arthur sucked in a deep breath and held it, hoping to restore some balance of sanity because it was very dangerous for both of them to be having mental breakdowns at the same time. For half a second, he thought he might be achieving his goal. Until he felt Merlin's magic.

The prince-king had always enjoyed being around his manservant, even in the early days when they hadn't liked each other very much. Merlin seemed to brighten the glow of the world to a dazzling degree, bringing with him a certain warmth and peace. Arthur understood now, as the golden tendrils swirled around them, exactly what he'd been feeling that entire time. Safety. Brought on by Merlin's magic. A magic that Merlin had only ever used for his benefit and protection. And, well, likely some of his chores. But the blond royal could hardly fault him for that; he would probably do the same!

His father, from his earliest memories, had preached of the evils of magic. Of how it had sought to lead those into temptation, brought destruction, pain, suffering, chaos. And Arthur had seen it do all that. But he couldn't help but think of the small acts of magic that he'd seen performed by those willing to help, whom he'd turned a blind eye to more than once because they had not used their magic to harm, only help. He couldn't see persecuting someone like that. If he had, what would it have done? To know that, all he had to do is look to his father. If your people lived constantly in fear of death for their gifts, wouldn't you be willing to attempt to remove the threat? Arthur would be the first in line to do so to protect his people and had been so many times. If one constantly beat down a dog, eventually that dog was either going to lie down and die, or bite back. Unfortunately for Camelot, they usually suffered through the "bite back" variety of sorcerers.

But as he sat there, basking in the glowing warmth of Merlin's magic, Arthur held no fear, only the welcoming sense that he had finally returned _home_.

End Ch. 6

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><p>AN: Happy glowy moments all around! Let me know what you think cause you're not the only one who is dying of anticipation!


	7. Now What? We Stay the Course

**A/N: Originally this chapter was actually two but I decided to combine them. Hopefully it works well! **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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><p><strong>Ch. 7-Now What? We Stay the Course<strong>

It was some time before Merlin's grief wound down to manageable levels, his magic and grip relaxing somewhat as he sprawled bonelessly in his king's lap.

"I missed you too," Arthur whispered, smoothing his hand down the trembling back. He felt as though he were floating, buoyed by both Merlin's magic and Merlin himself. If it had been in any way possible, the blond royal wished he could just curl up as he was and sleep. With Merlin safe and sound (and he would stay that way, if Arthur had anything to say about it) and the warlock's magic sinking into the king-prince making him feel as though he had just settled into a warm bath after a long training session, Arthur felt himself relaxing for the first time in ages. It was amazing that he'd gotten anything done considering just how tense he'd really been!

"Arthur," Merlin whispered back, hands still spasmodically fisting in the other's tunic.

"Merlin," Arthur returned, snickering. He knew he was terrible for teasing the warlock at a time like this, but just the fact that he _could_ tease him, well…it was overwhelming. The king-prince was sliding out of his depression and right into giddiness because somehow they had done it. Somehow, they had once more beaten the odds that were stacked so alarmingly against them and emerged triumphantly at the top. Well, mostly triumphant. They were alive, together, and in Camelot. Even if he wasn't currently king and fitting rather terribly back into the role of crown prince, he wasn't alone.

He had Merlin.

"Prat!" the other grumbled wetly, voice still clogged with tears. Arthur only snickered harder.

"I am your king," he reminded him in his best pompous voice, trying so desperately not to laugh any louder than he already had.

"Still a prat."

"Only to you."

Merlin huffed, a breathy chuckle escaping. "Of course, as always." He blinked, eyes snapping up when the prince shifted his weight. "Arthur?" And oh, the blond royal hated that vulnerable tone as it dashed any lightheartedness that had managed to find its way into the situation. It set his protective instincts on edge and he wanted to pound some manners into who ever had caused it.

Too bad _he_ was the cause.

"Are you really here?"

Arthur leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he said. And it didn't just sound like reassurance; it sounded like a vow. Because it was. Arthur had no intention of letting Merlin suffer through this alone anymore. The last week had been torture enough for him with the uncertainty of what was actually going on, but for Merlin, oh, it had to have been so much worse. Arthur had tried not to contemplate what it would be like if his warlock had not remembered their life together simply because it was too terrible to think of. How could so much be forgotten? So much blood, sweat, tears, triumphs? But that could have been what happened. He could have been all alone.

And now he could see what it was like for the shoe to be on the other foot. Merlin would have to struggle with keeping his magic secret once more on top of Arthur's prattishness and his old memories. Would he have been able to stand it, or would he have broken underneath the burden?

Arthur was very sure he never wanted to know.

"What do we do now?" Merlin's question brought him out of his thoughts. Arthur glanced down at the dark-head that had returned to his shoulder, the warlock's eyes half closed in exhaustion. The king-prince grimaced. As much as he would like to lock Merlin away with him today so that could find their equilibrium once more, it just wasn't possible. Arthur had to train the knights in the afternoon followed by dinner with his father and sister and as much as he would not mind skipping over all of those activities, it just wasn't possible. Not yet anyway. As crown prince (again) he had responsibilities that could not be shirked, but it was the same for Merlin. He just…wasn't sure how would react to letting the other out of his sight at the moment.

Arthur drew in a deep breath. "Right now, you need to go back to Gaius and send Thomas back to me." A faint shadow crossed his warlock's face and he could almost read the others thought. "You're not my manservant yet, he is, and it's his job. How we are going to get you back to that we'll have to talk about later. As much as I hate to say this, it's business as usual."

"If it were business as usual, you would be escorting me to the dungeons right about now," Merlin pointed out and the blond royal scowled. As much as Arthur hated to admit it, Merlin was right. There had to be some form of retribution for what Merlin had done earlier because although those noble idiots needed their behavior called upon, it should have been Arthur, not Merlin, who had done it. Even if the idiots deserved it, they would expect Merlin to be punished.

That didn't mean Arthur had to like it.

"I could just make up a punishment," he tossed out hopefully and pouted when the other shook his head.

"All it would take would be a few questions and any story we concoct would fall apart," A bitter smile crossed Merlin's face and frankly, Arthur hated it. "The best and most believable lies have a grain of truth to them."

"You would know," Arthur muttered before he could stop himself and winced when Merlin snapped back as though struck. "Great dragons! Sorry, sorry, you know I'm a prat, I didn't mean it. I didn't!"

"Yes you did," Merlin whispered, "but it's okay. You're right, I do." The awkward silence that followed was stifling and Arthur was sure how to dispel it. Of course he was cocking this up, wasn't that just how the sword fell? Perhaps he hadn't dealt with his feelings over the lies that Merlin had been telling all of these years as well as he'd thought. As the silence continued to stretch, and Arthur continued to fail to find a way to put a stop to it, Merlin took matters into his own hands and rocked back on his heels creating some distance between them.

"I guess it's time for the dungeons, then the stocks." Try as he might, the lightness the warlock was trying to bring back was falling flat and all the blond royal wanted to do was reverse the last ten minutes and do this again. But then, hadn't he already been given that opportunity? And still he couldn't get it right!

Arthur finally nodded, albeit unwillingly, but, quick as a snake, grasped Merlin's wrist as he attempted to rise. The other blinked in shock. "We will talk about this, I promise," the king-prince vowed and was pleased with the bewildered nod he was given. He squeezed the wrist he held. "Merlin…" he trailed off, words suddenly deserting him when he needed them most. His friend waited patiently and Arthur cursed in his head. Why was this so difficult? What words could he possibly say to relay how much the other meant to him? Was now the time? He'd already messed up once, maybe he should just keep his mouth shut. Besides, he often let his actions speak for him.

Releasing the trapped wrist, he grasped the warlock's shoulders and pulled him snuggly into his arms once more. The dark-haired youth tensed for half a second before letting loose such a loud, long sigh that Arthur was sure he would just deflate because of it. Thin arms snaked around his waist and a dark head returned to his damp shoulder. Heaving his own heavy sigh, the future king turned his head to place a fond kiss on the pale forehead before resting his temple against it. The dungeons could wait just a little bit longer.

And just maybe he wouldn't screw this up after all.

_**~Merlin~**_

The harsh clang of the dungeon cell door rang in his ears as he stumbled and eventually fell in to the straw that covered the stone floor. The guards hadn't been particularly gentle and already he could feel what would be purple bruises forming on his upper arms. Arthur had insisted on seeing him to the dungeons, reluctant as of yet to let him out of his sight. Merlin couldn't say that he was very keen on it either, but if they were to pass unnoticed for now, nothing could change. Merlin would have to play the part of ignorant newcomer, and Arthur the pompous prince. Though the warlock could tell that the scowl that was dominating his king's expression was for the guards, not him, one look at his warlock and Arthur had only scowled harder before turning on his heel and leaving Merlin behind.

Merlin kept his eyes on the other till Arthur disappeared completely, already feeling the pain of their separation. When he finally acknowledged that he couldn't see his king any more, the warlock sagged, his body completely drained. Never in his life had he been so tired. And what a funny thing to think, especially after all that he'd been through, that crying (which he would not be ashamed of, he wouldn't) could do this to him. Oh, he knew that it wasn't just the crying, but the actual act of seeing Arthur again that did this to him. Arthur.

Alive, here, alive. Arthur.

Merlin shuddered, curling into a tight ball on top of the straw. Being away from the man so soon after gaining him back (and with his memories as well) was like being stabbed repeatedly in the gut. It was bad enough that his body felt like he'd spent all day and night training with the king-prince (in other words, having Arthur whack at him with a sword), but adding the emotional upheaval on top was too much.

He wondered how Arthur was handling it.

Now that he had time (plenty of it unfortunately) he wondered over Arthur's reaction. The man clearly remembered their previous lives. That was a better outcome that the warlock could ever hope for. He hadn't known if it would work, but he'd been so desperate…

Losing Arthur hadn't been an option.

And now here they were at the beginning again. How and why here were thoughts for another day, he decided with a yawn, giving into his body's need for rest. Just as he felt himself slipping away to blessed sleep, a new (old) voice filled his head.

_Merlin_.

The warlock's eyes popped open and he didn't even bother to stifle his groan.

Bastard.

_**~Arthur~**_

Arthur didn't bother to train with the knights, knowing that if he tried, he would surely hurt either himself or someone else. Better to take out his frustrations on the training dummies. After giving his marching orders to a bemused Leon, Arthur had done just that, throwing himself in to the practice with gusto. Seeing the ferocity with which he was attacking his 'foes', the other knights had let him be, assuming that working out his frustration over something his father had said or done, or perhaps the mouthy peasant he'd escorted to the dungeons personally.

Funny; they were right on both accounts.

Knowing that it would be some time before he would be 'allowed' to see his warlock again brought no end of frustration to the king-prince. It had practically torn him in two to walk away from that dungeon cell and it had taken all of his self-discipline not to look back when he'd left. And that self-discipline was still being sorely tested for with every breath, Arthur wanted nothing more than to march back down there and take Merlin back, possibly knocking a few of the guards' heads together for touching the man. Merlin was his, his to protect, his to defend, but what kind of defender was he when he allowed them to rough his warlock up as he had?

Hence, his broiling frustration.

And wasn't it just a _wonderful_ end to the day, he groused internally as Thomas stripped him of his armor and he sank into the awaiting bath. He had to have dinner. With his father. And Morgana.

Which ever higher power he had angered so was very sadistic, he decided as he scrubbed his skin, relieving the manservant of his duty. One thing he could not get used to, despite how hard he tried (which, he would admit, was not that hard) was Thomas touching him. Oh, he could tolerate the man's presence in his chambers (he was in and out so quickly as it was), but actually allowing him to touch him…Arthur found he couldn't do it. The first time the other had tried to help him dress, the prince-king had nearly jumped out of his skin, barely restraining himself from taking a swing at the servant. Arthur had been horrified by his reaction because what, in the name of the kings of old was wrong with him?

Merlin. It continued to boil down to his warlock. Merlin had been his manservant for so long, and Arthur had become so comfortable with him that allowing another into his space seemed a like a betrayal (but it wasn't, really). Frankly it was also bloody disconcerting. Over time, Merlin and he had developed a rhythm, a secret dance to which only they knew the tune. As easy as breathing they moved throughout their day, knowing the other was always within easy reach.

And Thomas just couldn't compare.

Eventually he was able to still his fidgeting when his manservant fitted him with his armour, but it was always a test of his patience and tenacity. And Arthur was tired of it. Why couldn't he have Merlin back now?

_Really, Arthur?_ Two voiced tried to superimpose themselves over the other as he rose from the bath, accepting the towel Thomas held out. One held the distinct disdain of Uther and it was a phrase and tone that the king-prince had heard more times than he cared to count. Many times when he had offered his thoughts or solutions to a problem that the (current) king believed to be ill-conceived (meaning anything that did not fall in line with his father's thinking), he earned that phrase.

It angered him that it still affected him more than he would like.

The other was colored with Merlin's fond exasperation (no doubt accompanied by an eye roll) that often came when Arthur was teasing or just being more of a clotpole than usual. Arthur was grateful for it, as it had grounded him more than once. Now, he focused on it, drowning out Uther's voice as it attempted to pull him under once more.

"Sire?"

With a start, Arthur returned to himself, gazing in confusion at his (current) manservant. Thomas extended the clothes once more. "Sire, you must dress soon if you are to dine with the king and Lady Morgana," the other reminded and Arthur grimaced. These spacing out episodes were happening more and more often and were slightly alarming. He would have to talk to Merlin about them.

At least he hadn't threatened Thomas with a knife again.

Exchanging the towel for the clothes and Arthur quickly dressed, reflecting once more on his current and former (future) manservants. When Arthur had suddenly changed the routine by dressing himself, Thomas had hardly batted an eyelash, offering no comment, merely acceptance of the situation. Merlin, the king-prince knew, would have at least teased him over his apparent new found knowledge of what most would consider basic skills and happily exclaimed over having not to dress him like a toddler any longer. Beyond that, the warlock would have questioned him (while teasing him no doubt) over the abrupt change and keep an eye on him to determine if something was amiss. Arthur hadn't realized how much he took for granted having Merlin's support and grounding in nearly everything he did. If nothing else, suffering its lack now was certainly putting it into perspective.

"I believe you are ready, sire," Thomas's voice once more interrupted his thoughts and the prince-king heaved a sigh. Another absent-minded episode.

"Off to the den of the dragons," the blond royal muttered under his breath and even though he was (fairly) certain the other man had heard him he offered no reaction.

He really missed Merlin.

_**~Arthur~**_

"You seem preoccupied, Arthur, is everything alright?" Morgana's inquiry would not be ignored and while the king-prince wanted nothing more than to make a face at her, now was not the time.

"I merely have a lot on my mind, it has kept my head full as of late," he returned, taking another bite. Dinner was just as he feared it would be—tense and exhausting on his part, distant on his father's and nosy on Morgana's. There was a reason he avoided her as much as possible and it was not just her nosiness (though that would be reason enough!) His body might be different, but it somehow retained the fight or flight response when it came to his sister and he wasn't certain on how to be rid of it (or even if he should be). Sister or not, it would be a long time before he could trust her, if ever.

Was that even fair?

"Oh?" If the dark-haired woman didn't really want to know, she was faking it well, "Such as?"

The fact that I died but somehow along with my best friend seem to be getting a second chance at life. Yes, because that would go over so well. Oh, and just how was he supposed to answer this? Think!

"The new batch of knight trainees are not nearly as promising as I had hoped. It's going to take a great deal of work to raise them to Camelot's standards and while I don't doubt that, with the proper work ethic, they can rise to the challenge, some are frankly hopeless." It was all true; not one lie within it. He'd had similar thoughts the last time he'd had to do this, but kept them to himself. Partly because his father would no doubt lecture him, but if he had brought up his concerns, Uther wouldn't want to listen to him.

Morgana expression showed just how she felt about Arthur's response (hah! Take that!) while the (current) king sat forward, now interested. "Whom do you deem hopeless?" he asked, surprising Arthur with just how sincere he sounded.

"Sirs Orvin, Estern, and Val," he returned promptly, rattling off the names of his (very much former) 'friends'. Had they ever been his friends? No, he thought to himself, not really. Merely hanger-ons hoping their 'status' as the crown prince's friends might prevail upon them the goal they sought.

Not likely.

Uther's brow creased when he frowned. "They are all fine second sons of good lords." And damn him if he wasn't going to leave it at that. It was a test to see how he Arthur would respond. While he previously might have fallen into the trap of allowing his emotions to rule his argument (it's not whining, no matter what Merlin says), the king-prince had enough experience now to neatly side-step it. Had Uther always done this to him?

Great dragons, he _had_. Arthur was beginning to suspect that his entire life had been one large test that, according to his father, he was consistently doing poorly on.

"Indeed they are, and credits to their fathers. They have the potential, I have seen it, but are unfortunately lacking in the work ethic. On more than one occasion they have found themselves beaten by other trainees who are behind them in skills, but beyond them in their dedication to their craft. Perhaps that will change in years to come, but I have seen no evidence so far. I would not wish to weaken Camelot's defenses by having knights who are lax in their training." Framing arguments: start with a praise, follow with the problem and example, offer hope (but not too much), and end with a point that will stick. For his father, Camelot was always the point (in most cases barring magic) and Arthur was fairly certain it would be a useful one in this case.

And Uther, it seemed, was surprised by his rather eloquent speech (he was capable of those, even without Merlin's help) and before long was nodding his head. "You are correct. It would be unwise to allow such attitudes to prevail among our knights. Keep after them for now, see if you can change their ways. If not, I will begin looking for a place for them elsewhere."

Arthur nodded, silently cheering his minute victory. One more step into ridding himself of those miscreant idiots once and for all. He caught Morgana's narrowed-eyed look out of the corner of his sight and offered her a bland smile before returning to his meal.

Deal with that, Morgana.

End Ch. 7

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><p>AN: As always, please let me know what you guys think! I love reading your reviews; they are awesome!


	8. Marketplace Debacle

**A/N: I really like this chapter and the next (the next one gave me so much trouble, but I persevered!) I hope you like the twist on what happened in the marketplace. :D**

**Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine! **

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><p><strong>Ch. 8-Marketplace Debacle<strong>

After dealing with a demanding dragon all night (and just how had he fallen asleep the first time around, he certainly couldn't this time!), Merlin found himself suffering through target practice at the stocks. He bore it with the amusement the punishment deserved, laughing along with the others. They didn't know him yet, but he had spotted several he knew from his former life.

And then there was Gwen.

It was very, very odd to see Gwen as a servant again after all this time. While she lacked the refined air of the noble class she had learned, she retained the joy, good-nature and kindness that made her…Gwen. Merlin could barely contain the grin as she stumbled over her words, thoroughly enjoying the banter. It had become increasingly rare for her to speak before she thought as the years passed and the warlock had come to miss those occasions. It reminded him of how happy Gwen had been before the whole debacle with Morgana. That's not to say that she hadn't been happy after, she'd married Arthur after all and had become queen, but her joy had been heavier, tempered by all that she had suffered.

Merlin was determined to lighten that burden as much as possible.

Eventually he was released from his punishment and he went about doing his best to clean up. Over the years he had learned to clean just about anything whether it be armour or clothes and he was pleased to see that his wardrobe would greatly benefit from that experience this time around. Perhaps he would actually be able to save his wages for something besides new clothes.

After enduring Gaius's good natured ribbing, he settled down to study the castle with his magic, setting subtle alarms that would alert him if anyone either than Gaius were to come around. Actually, he wasn't entirely sure that Arthur would set them off either for his magic was acting awfully strange when it came to his friend-king. When he had seen him for the first time in the outer yard, it had taken every ounce of control he'd possessed to keep his magic contained. It had fought more fiercely than a dragon, straining against the bonds he'd placed it under to reach Arthur.

It had never done that before.

And yes, he knew that to other magic users that referring to ones magic as though it were a living thing was downright odd, he also knew that they had only a fraction of the magic that flowed through him. It was always there; rolling gently or violently depending on the situation. His magic had always…perked up, whenever his prat-prince-king had been around and more than once had acted of its own accord to protect them both in dire situations. He'd once jokingly likened it a mother cat protecting her kittens to Gaius. Soon that cat became a bear and that bear a dragon.

Now he wasn't even sure if a dragon was a large and fierce enough comparison.

It was when they'd reached the armoury that Merlin had allowed his control to slip. While he knew Arthur had locked the room, his magic had ensured that it was sealed, no one allowed in and no sound allowed out. Then it focused on Arthur and the warlock could only liken it to a starving man allowed food after too long without. It washed over him. It covered him. It _sank_ into him and settled.

Like it never intended to be separated from Arthur again. It felt like coming home.

The warlock…wasn't sure exactly what to do with that. He wasn't even certain he _wanted_ to do anything about it. Even after Arthur and he had been separated, his presence teased the corners of Merlin's perception. Since that presence apparently had mood swings (and just what could Arthur be so smug about?) he had finally concluded that what he was sensing really _was_ his king-prince which set off a momentary bout of panic. Had his magic _bonded_ them?

It certainly gave a whole new meaning to "two sides of the same coin." Somewhere the warlock just knew that the Fates and Destiny were cackling gleefully over his dilemma. Not that he objected to being bonded to Arthur; there was some serious reassurance in knowing how the man was doing, but he wasn't entirely sure how Arthur would take being bonded to Merlin. Or was he bonded? Whatever information he was being fed by the link might only flow one way. Merlin might sense Arthur, but Arthur might not be able to sense Merlin.

Just the implications of it were giving him a headache.

Determined not to let him worry him for now, he dispelled the magic and set off to complete some errands for Gaius. Last time he did this, he ran into Arthur in the marketplace and he had nearly exposed himself using magic to escape the prince-knight. It made him wonder that, if he were to face that now, knowing Arthur's style and moves as he did, would he have a better chance?

"Well look who it is, boys, the mouthy peasant." The sneering voice cut over the din of the marketplace catching the attention of many and sending a jolt of surprise through the unsuspecting warlock. He froze, his face sliding into a grimace. Of course. He just _had_ to tempt fate by thinking about it. Seriously, just who had he made angered to deserve this?

With a deep breath he spun on his heel, facing his trio of adversaries. Sir Orvin, Estern and Val grinned at him from just a few meters away. Merlin really did not like the looks of those grins. Arthur had hurt him that day- not seriously (though he had thought differently at the time, he had much worse to compare it to now), but had known when to stop. These three… they would not stop until they felt that their point was made. More than likely they felt it was their duty to teach "the mouthy peasant" what his true place in the world was (if they only knew) and would no doubt leave Merlin a broken mess if given the opportunity.

He wasn't going to give it to them.

Knowing that retreat was his best option, but not one that was open to him, the warlock handed off his basket to a nearby vendor for safekeeping before falling into the familiar defensive stance. It came so naturally. All that work with the king-prat _had_ paid off.

"This is not a good idea," he tried to warn them, though he wondered why he bothered. The three noble (not in the good way) idiots obviously wanted their crack at punishing him (wasn't spending the night in the dungeons with a nattering dragon and being pelted by almost rotten vegetables enough?) and they didn't care who stood in their way. Merlin remembered that last time, when it had been Arthur he had squared off with, they had done a great deal of damage to the various stalls in the marketplace. He wanted to avoid that (plus avoid _them_) if at all possible.

But they weren't going to make it easy.

"You still don't get it, do you?" the one in the middle, Sir Orvin if he remembered correctly, grinned, clearly enjoying taunting his prey.

"I do know that you're not just asses, you're _noble_ asses," the warlock shot back, unable to stop himself. These were examples of the worst kind of behavior from nobles, one that Arthur, as king, had not tolerated. And part of him…part of him, deep down, could not help but poke at the lumbering bears before him. If he could possibly teach _them_ a lesson, well…it probably wouldn't do anything, but it couldn't hurt to try, right? "You could have hurt Prince Arthur's manservant, do really think he would have appreciated that?"

Taunting. Taunting is bad, Merlin reminded himself.

A truly cruel expression descended over Sir Orvin's face while the other two were twisted by scowls. "You're the only one who is going to hurt now." And with that promise, they charged.

Merlin forced himself to wait, bouncing on the balls of his feet. If he didn't time this just right…Just as the men were upon him, he ducked under their sweeping arms, setting off at a dead run once clear. Curses and bellows of fury followed as the men tried to compensate for Merlin's move, but they were so much larger which made them that much slower. The warlock could feel a fierce grin breaking out; the longer it took them to catch up, the farther from the marketplace they would be, but the more attention they would gather. With any luck, the guards would take an interest. Though, on second thought, that might just work against him.

Figures he would have to deal with them on his own. Well, best to do it on his terms.

_**~Arthur~**_

Perhaps it was nostalgia or the onset of a mental affliction, but Arthur could not resist the urge to stroll through the marketplace.

The want to seek out Merlin had steadily increased from the moment he had left him (like a common thief—which he wasn't!) in the dungeons and it was frankly starting to irritate him. Merlin was his…his friend, his advisor, his warlock, just _his_. Shouldn't he be allowed to see the man any time he wanted? When they had made the decision in the armoury to stay the course for the time being, he hadn't given much thought to how hard that would be. Merlin was always there until suddenly he _wasn't_ and Arthur did not like it.

No, he loathed it.

He was walking with Leon, fake-listening to the man's report (it was all information he already knew, so what was the harm?), subtly steering them in the direction of the marketplace. Perhaps he could hire Merlin as his manservant instead of waiting for his father to award him the position? No, that would cause too many questions. While it was true that the blond royal had a notoriously long list of former manservants, Thomas had done nothing wrong and indeed seemed to be settling. It was something that both made Arthur happy and saddened him at the same time. He was glad to see that the other man was finally beginning to relax around him; well, as much as he was ever likely to. He doubted that his new attitude had not gone unnoticed, but likely viewed as a blessing. On the other hand, there was little doubt that when Thomas was replaced by Merlin, he would feel that he had somehow let the prince-king down by not stepping into save him, but that wasn't part of his job.

Merlin hadn't ever learned that for which Arthur was grateful.

"…and I do think that…What in the world?" The abrupt change in conversation drew Arthur from his inner contemplations. During his mental wanderings, Leon and he had arrived at the marketplace, almost in the exact spot where his fight with Merlin had begun before. Different items lay scattered in the cobblestones, their owners hurriedly retrieving what could be salvaged. A cart was being lifted back onto two wheels and various people were tending to one another.

"What happened here?" Arthur muttered under his breath, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Could it have been Merlin? And if so, who could he be fighting? Hopefully the idiot didn't use magic to escape—knowing his luck he would be caught!

"My lord!" A voice, one he had become reluctantly accustomed to in the mornings, rang out and Arthur dragged his eyes over the scene before he spotted Thomas beside an herb vendor, holding a basket.

A well-known basket. Merlin's.

Arthur found himself navigating the mess even before he had the conscious thought to move, too intent on getting to Thomas. The manservant made no effort to move, waiting for his master.

"Thomas, did you see what happened here?" Arthur asked, not acknowledging Leon as he caught up with him.

The man shook his head. "No, sire, but Len did," he remarked, bending his head toward the vendor.

The vendor blinked at what could only be fire that blazed behind the prince's eyes. Lying to this man would not be wise.

"Speak," Arthur commanded, in no way caring that he wasn't being polite. Something had happened to Merlin here. He knew it like he knew his sword. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

"My lord, that boy tried to keep them from makin' such a mess, but they were so angry, I'm surprised it's not worse," Len began. "He wasn't hurtin' nobody. He was out doing chores for a healer, I 'spect, seein' what he bought," he gestured toward the basket. "They came out of nowhere, tauntin' him, but the boy stood his ground and got them to chase him away from the square. Don't know any more than that. Sorry, my lord." He bowed his head, wishing he could have done more.

"Describe him and his attackers," Arthur urged, feeling his heart begin to pound in his chest. This…this was bad. Really, really bad.

"The boy was tall and nothing more than a stick. Dark hair. He wore a blue neckerchief."

Oh great kings—Merlin!

"And the others?" he pressed.

Here, Len seemed to hesitate and the king-prince had an uneasy idea why, but needed to hear it confirmed.

"Please. No harm shall come to you," the blond royal promised and he meant every word.

Len gazed at him fearfully for a moment before finally nodding to himself. "The other three that chased after him were dressed much like you, my lord."

_Damnit!_

"Which way did they go?" Leon asked. Bless the man for giving that thought.

"Down the main road. The boy looked as though he were searching for something even when he was trying to get away!" Len answered in awe, having retrieved all of his usable merchandise and rearranged his stall.

"Thank you," Arthur said, much to the astonishment of the older knight. "Your help will not be forgotten." The words had barely left his mouth when he set off at a dead run, Leon close at his heels.

Of course, of course! Those _simpletons_ had come to seek revenge on Merlin, why hadn't Arthur predicted that? He himself had done it the first time around. But unlike him, he knew those imbeciles would not stop at just besting Merlin to save their supposedly slighted honor, no; they would likely beat the warlock within an inch of his life.

He had to find them. Now.

Even as he ran, his eyes continually roved, seeking the (sometimes obvious) signs of a fight. But it wasn't those subtle signs that guided his path, no; his body seemed to know where it was going and he was merely along for the ride. He found he was okay with that, as long as it led him to Merlin.

It took far longer than he would have liked (Merlin had led them on a merry chase) before he finally spotted a crowd gathered around the entrance to a dead end alley and Arthur was not pleased (incensed would be a better choice) to see that there were guardsmen mingling among the onlookers.

Just what was going on?

The sounds that assaulted his ears as he got closer only spurred him on. He barreled through the crowd, Leon dogging his heels, and when he finally broke through, he, and his world, came to a screeching halt.

They were hurting Merlin. They were _hurting_ Merlin. They were hurting _Merlin_. _They were hurting Merlin!_

"STOP!"

All movement around the king-prince ceased the moment of his thunderous bellow. Even the three wastes of space (miscreant was too nice of term for them now) who hardly ever followed commands froze, bloodied fists still in the air. The blond royal had heard the phrase "seeing red" but until this very moment had never experienced it. Blood pounding in his ears, his breath coming harshly and Arthur could not think, _could not think_, past the realization that _they were hurting Merlin_. _Merlin's_ blood was staining their hands and clothes and the cobblestones beneath them.

They. Were going. To die.

_No one_ hurt Merlin. Not while Arthur was around. Or even when he wasn't if they knew what was good for them. Merlin was _his_ (he didn't share) and you respected that. Or you paid for it.

But even as he descended upon the attackers like an avenging god, he found a smidgen of restrain t. _Don't make this about me_, he could almost hear Merlin warn. As much as Arthur wanted to rend these men to pieces for what they had done his (almost) manservant (friend!) he couldn't. It would draw too much attention that neither could afford as Arthur had no current claim on Merlin (but he would). But they were _not_ going to get away with this.

They would _pay_.

Snatching Sir Orvin by the collar he flung the man away, not caring one wit when the other stumbled and landed on his behind. The other two scrambled to evade the enraged prince-king, eyes wide. They honestly looked petrified and it was little wonder because furious did not even begin to cover how he felt and it no doubt showed in his expression. Snarling, Arthur dropped to his knees beside the unconscious man, blindly feeling for a pulse. It was only when he found it did he feel as though he could breathe again.

Kings of old, Merlin was a mess! One eye was already swelling shut and a vast array of other bruises was already blooming over the exposed skin. Blood welled from the warlock's split lip, mixing with blood from the cut above his eyebrow and cheek, before trailing into the dark hair. His clothes were ripped and bloody and the king-prince did not want to imagine what lay beneath. Worryingly the warlock did not respond to his touch, remaining stubbornly unconscious. What little restraint he had managed to summon was fast being lost when faced with reality of what had been done to his friend.

Dead. They were dead men.

"You!" Arthur pointed to a guard who had been loitering among the gathered crowd. The man snapped to attention. "Retrieve Gaius at once! Tell him that it's Merlin," he ordered before he finally forced himself to rise to his feet and face Merlin's attackers.

"Just what in _hell_ do you think you are doing?" he roared, still too angry to control his volume. He barely waited a beat before charging on. "I hear reports of a great disturbance in the marketplace: stalls being destroyed, people being hurt and I _assume_," he voice dropped to a hiss at the word, "that my knights-in-training had arrived before me to solve the problem, NOT BE THE CAUSE OF THE PROBLEM THEMSELVES!" Many jumped at his sudden change in volume but Arthur could not bring himself to care.

"Sire," Sir Orvin ventured, cringing when he became the sole focus of the infuriated royal, "that man," and damn if he didn't have the gall to glare at Merlin's prone form, "was causing trouble. We were putting an end to it."

Arthur blinked, momentarily off-put. Did they just…were the seriously trying to…They were! They were trying to blame _Merlin_ for what happened. This went beyond idiocy! Did they not think that Arthur would thoroughly question everyone to get to the bottom of this? That he would take their word on the situation and say, "Oh, well, carry on then," because if they did then…idiocy did not even begin to cover it. Lunacy might come close, insanity even closer. Even if he hadn't bothered to investigate, he certainly wouldn't condone the merciless beating that Merlin had suffered.

Before he could dignify the sheer stupidity of the noble's accusation with a response, Gaius burst through the crowd, his robes positively billowing behind him. If he was surprised to see the prince standing like a protective dragon over his ward, he did not show it, eyes focused solely on Merlin. Forcing his temper (oh how he wished to end those men, but he would make the _suffer_ first) into its (temporary) cage, Arthur knelt beside his prone friend once more, careful to keep out of Gaius's way.

"What do you need?" the blond royal under his breath, certain only the physician could hear him. Gaius glanced sharply in his direction and the brief glimpse of absolute cold fury contained in those aged eyes made Arthur flinch, but he would not stand down. This was his fault. He should have never let Merlin trail around on his own.

"We need to get him to my chambers, I can help him better there," the older man answered. As if by magic, Thomas appeared with another servant, carrying a stretcher between them. Arthur, after batting away the others hands, gently lifted Merlin (who was still unconscious) onto the stretcher and forced himself to remain as they hurried off, even if he wanted nothing more than to follow them.

Merlin would be alright, Arthur reminded himself, hoping it would calm his need for blood. Merlin was with Gaius and Gaius would do anything for the one he would name son, _he would_.

_Merlin would be fine._

And if he wasn't, well…Arthur had somehow cheated Death once, he would figure out how to do it again.

But right now, Merlin needed him to be bloody calm because anger here would only blow matters out of all proportion and he was going to see justice done if it was the last thing he did. Arthur was no help in the physician's realm, knew only basic field aid, but here…Here he would see Merlin's attackers brought to justice. He had learned many lessons (usually the hard way) as king when it came to dealing with nobles of this caliber, but their earlier accusations conjured up the perfect solution.

He was going to make them _confess._

_End Ch. 8_

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><p><em>AN: I sooooo don't won't to be those fellas right now. Arthur is going to kill them! Please let me know what you think. I live for your reviews!_


	9. Master of Manipulating Morons

**A/N: So, here we are again. Let's see what Arthur has in store for us shall we?**

**Disclaimer: If it were mine, would I be writing this?**

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><p><strong>Chapter 9-Master of Manipulating Morons<strong>

Slowly Arthur rose to his feet, inhaling deeply before he turned sharply to face his victims. Oh yes, they were his victims, even if they had not realized it yet. What he looked like, he didn't know, but many of the onlookers shuffled back after seeing his face. Drawing in another breath he forced his expression to smooth, dredging up the calmness he felt before a good fight. His expression might have changed, but the glint in his eyes only intensified; a predator ready to pounce on his prey. If Sir Leon and Sir Boris (who had turned up just after Gaius) recognized the look, they chose wisely not to inform the trainees.

"You say that man, _Mer_lin, was causing a disturbance in the marketplace," he began, drawing in his victims who nodded along with what he said. "What exactly was he doing?"

Sir Estern and Val looked to Orvin, the clear ringleader of this debacle, for answers. It was obvious that they had not thought this situation through. They had only wanted to teach that peasant his place. Destroying the marketplace was an unfortunate bi-product of their thoughtless revenge.

Sir Orvin cleared his throat nervously. "We were going to purchase a few items," he started, but Arthur quickly interrupted him.

"What items?"

The knight-trainee started. "Sire?"

"What items did you intend to buy, Sir Orvin?"

"Oh, uh, a knife. Um," his scrunched up his face in thought. Surely Orvin knew Arthur could tell he was making this up on the spot? "Leather bracers and a few shirts. Nothing really definite."

Arthur nodded, content to let the man dig himself a deeper hole. "So just browsing then?"

Orvin (and Val and Estern) nodded eagerly, believing that their tale was taking root. "Indeed, sire, just a bit of a break from training, you see. While in the square, we came across that _peasant_," Orvin spat the word and the fire in Arthur's eyes only grew hotter. Still, no one felt the urge to help the trainees, obviously hoping they would sink themselves. Which they were doing. So. Well.

"What was he doing?" the royal kept his tone even by sheer force of will.

"Yelling, cursing, throwing things. Generally making a scene, sire."

"Indeed. What did you do to intervene?"

"We intended to pull the peasant aside and force him to leave, but before we could reach him, he'd knocked a vendor to the ground and stole from him."

"What did he steal?" Calm. He had to remain calm. For Merlin.

"Sire?" And here Orvin grew nervous once more.

"What did he steal? I assume he threw it away when you pursued him as I see nothing here and I want to be able to identify the item when it is found."

"Oh, uh, I believe it was a shirt, my lord, a red one."

"And the name of the vendor he took it from?"

"I…I…" Here Orvin nearly ground to a halt. He could never have anticipated Arthur asking so many questions. But as the king-prince had learned over the years was that the devil was in the details. "I'm not certain, my lord."

"Would you know him, if you saw him?"

Orvin grasped the straw hook, line and sinker. "Yes, my lord."

Arthur paused thoughtfully, eyes roaming the crowd thoughtfully. Many of these people had witnessed what really had happened and were staring incredulously at the nobles, but were obviously too frightened to speak up. And that made Arthur wonder just how often these three had terrorized his citizens that they felt compelled to keep their silence from their prince. What he detested most, however, were the resigned looks that many wore, as if it were a foregone conclusion that the nobles would not be punished for their crime.

Oh, they would be punished. He would make certain of it.

"After he stole the red shirt, then what did you do?"

Sir Estern spoke up, "We pursued him, sire. We could not let the thievery stand."

"And the marketplace suffered because he would not surrender?"

Sir Val took his turn. "I'm afraid so, my lord. He may not look it, but he is very fast. He pulled many things in our paths to keep us from catching him," he grimaced, "I'm sorry about that, sire, but we could not let him get away with it." And Arthur hadn't known that Val could be that sneaky. Those words implied the real reasons why they had gone after Merlin while fitting within the confines of their cover story. Clever. He also had to hand it to them they all seemed generally contrite in the face of the destruction of the marketplace. The blond royal did not doubt that at least some of the mess could be contributed to Merlin for Arthur had taught him to use his surroundings to his advantage when faced with a greater foe. Even with a lesser one, it could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

Escape, or a beating.

"Did you at any point summon the guards?"

"No, sire. It happened so fast and, well, we thought we could handle one man."

Arthur nodded, because of course yelling for someone to get the guards was just a waste of breath. _Obviously._

"You chased him to this alley?" The king-prince knew why Merlin had chosen this alley. It was supposed to lead into a sharp turn around that would likely have let him shake his pursuers. Supposed to, but it didn't yet. That changed would come about for another year or so. For now it was merely a dead end.

"Yes, sire. He chose the wrong turn at last and we stopped him here," Orvin said proudly.

"He didn't come quietly I take it." Great dragons it was hard to be casual about this when all he kept picturing was punching that smirk off Orvin's face.

"No, sire." The three echoed together.

"And what we saw was you subduing him?"

The three men nodded. Behind them, Sir Boris and Sir Karns (who had arrived midway through the story) were gawking at them in frank disbelief. Arthur could sympathize because it was a terrible lie that would crumble at any moment. _Please, please, please let him never have been so gullible as to believe the drivel that these idiots were spewing, please_. _Mer_lin was a much better liar than them! Granted, he had more practice, but still!

Eyes still on the crowd, Arthur spotted Leon who had disappeared around the middle of their alibi (lies, all lies) and at his elbow was someone very useful. The blond royal waited patiently until Leon maneuvered them through the crowd, fading back just as the man became visible.

"Is there anyone you see here that would fit the vendor from your story?" Arthur asked, trying so very hard not to smirk. The three trainees gazed out over the crowd, but it was Estern who pegged him first.

"That's him, my lord! He stole from that man there!" he declared, pointing at the vendor.

Arthur motioned to the dark-haired man who shuffled forward, basket clutched in his arms. "You would swear before your king that this is the man that Merlin stole from? The one who sells shirts?"

Each of them nodded, though Val was somewhat reluctant, perhaps sensing a rat. Smarter than he looked then. Second thoughts being had? Too bloody late for that!

"Your name?" Arthur questioned, doing his best to seem ignorant.

"Len, my lord."

"And Len you are a vendor in our marketplace? For how long?"

"Yes, sire, goin' on fifteen years."

"And, Len," here he paused because oh, a sprung trap was such a sweet thing to witness. He felt like one of his dogs on the scent of blood—idiot blood. "Have you at any point in those fifteen years ever sold shirts?"

The older man shook his head, a suppressed smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "No, my lord. I sell herbs."

Any murmuring in the crowd abruptly ceased as the onlookers absorbed this new information before exploding anew. Some were beginning to see the net that the prince-king was drawing around the nobles, using their own words to weave the trap. Sir Boris and Karns, half a step ahead of the rest, maneuvered themselves with in grabbing distance of the imbeciles in case they decided to do something stupid.

Well, more stupid.

Sir Orvin, Val, and Estern gaped at the man, obviously not expecting that answer. Had they honestly expected that man to _lie_ to his _prince_? Great kings of old, _they had_, Arthur realized for their expressions were completely genuine. What had they been doing when the blond royal wasn't looking? Nothing too much this week as Arthur had attempted to keep an eye on them so they did not get too far out of line. Whatever was going on had been happening far longer than that.

No more. Arthur would make sure of that.

"And did Merlin visit your stall?" The king-prince knew that he had, but the accused didn't know that. Which was the point.

"Yes, sire. I have his basket here," Len raised it slightly. "He was purchasing sorrel and feverfew."

"And yet I see a red shirt in that basket," Arthur pointed out.

"It was already there when he came to my stall, my lord. It is quite worn and matched the one he was wearing. He was using it to cover the herbs." The vendor raised the aforementioned shirt and indeed it was just as he described it. The blond royal knew that it was Merlin's spare shirt and could in no way be mistaken for a new item.

"Th-there must be s-some mistake!" Sir Orvin protested and Arthur, constraints worn to the breaking point, snapped.

"The mistake, _Sir Orvin_, is your certainty that I would believe the lies you were spouting!" he hissed. The force of his anger, released from its confines, seemed an almost tangible thing, filling the alleyway until it seemed everyone might suffocate from it.

"But—but we are telling the truth, sire!" Sir Estern tried, pitiful though it was.

"Then why did we arrive to find you beating Merlin half-no-_nearly_ to death?" Arthur wanted to know.

"He-he was fighting back! We were trying to bring him in!" Sir Orvin insisted.

Blue eyes narrowed and a mocking smirk crawled over the royal's face. "So a commoner, with no military training nearly outwit and beat three knight-trainees in a fight? _And_ he was outnumbered?" Sir Boris and Karns did nothing to conceal their snickers when the three accused men grew tomato red. "Perhaps I should see to his training when he heals and then have him train all of _you_ since his skills are so superior!"

"But he's just a peasant!" Sir Estern exclaimed.

"Ah, so now we reach the _real_ reason why you nearly destroyed the marketplace and treated a man like he was a murdering bandit!" Even when Merlin had insulted him during their (first) first meeting, Arthur had been outraged, and wanted to teach him a lesson but he'd known where to draw the line. He had challenged (and forced) Merlin to fight him, knowing he would win, but determined to have a little fun. Even though he was living his life over again (he hoped, still wondering) he desperately wished that he could go back and slap his younger self upside the head. He knew he had been an arrogant asshole, but, faced with these three dunderheads, he could honestly say that he had never been as bad as them. He had never beaten a man nearly to death over some slight of honor.

"N-no, that's not…"

"The reason? I think it is. I think that you felt that I, your _prince_, failed to punish him properly so you decided to take it upon yourselves to dole out what you thought he deserved for calling you out on your atrocious behavior." Arthur had gone quiet, thoughtful; his anger a low simmer instead of a frothing boil. "You felt yourselves above the authority _of your prince_, who chose an appropriate punishment, because you thought you knew better." Estern and Orvin kept shaking their heads in denial even though they knew the game was up while Val glared at the ground. "Did you ever wonder why I didn't choose anything harsher? Yes, Merlin spoke out of turn, but he did so, _protecting my manservant_ whom you three boneheads were trying to injure."

"We weren't trying to hurt him," Val said sullenly, not looking up from the ground.

"Then torture! You terrorized a man for fun and when another man, commoner or not, tried to stop you, you beat him nearly to death."

Neither of the three bothered to speak up in their defense any longer. Arthur itched to snatch them up and beat them senseless and perhaps he would, if he ever allowed them on the training grounds again (unlikely), but now was not the time. Now was to give them a punishment that would work towards fixing what they had broken, literally, in many cases.

"Sir Leon, Sir Boris and Sir Karns, I would request your services in this matter."

The three knights inclined their heads. "Of course, sire," Sir Leon confirmed.

"These three _dunderheads_ are to clean up the marketplace on their own. After they do so, they are to check with each and every vendor that was affected in their little escapade and find the total cost of their destruction. It will be their duty to offer recompense." Arthur glared at the man when they dared to open their mouths to express their outrage. "Once that is complete, they are to be escorted to the dungeons where they shall cool their heels for a time. When I'm ready to release them, they will find themselves occupying the stocks," Arthur offered them a triumphant smirk, "just like a _peasant._"

"It will be done, sire," Leon said with entirely too much satisfaction, but the blond royal could hardly blame him. Each knight latched on to a trainee, dragging him roughly through the oddly silent crowd. The king-prince drew in a breath and forced himself to hold it for a ten count before releasing it. That wasn't the punishment he truly wished to visit upon those men. What he really desired was a few rounds on the training grounds with the twits, but beating men to death was frowned upon by most, even if it was deserved. For now his ruling would stand, damn whatever his father would think. He would make him understand; he would make him see.

More evidence. He'd wanted more evidence that these men were not knights of Camelot material. He'd gotten it alright.

But at what cost?

"Sire?" Len's, the herb vendor, voice broke through his musings, tugging him back to the present.

The blond royal turned to the man who had not strayed far from his side to see him holding out Merlin's basket. "I wasn't certain…shall I take this to the court physician, sire?"

Arthur plucked the basket from the man's grasp, tucking it under his elbow. "I shall do so myself," he promised. After a moment's hesitation, the prince-king clapped the man on the shoulder. "Thank you, for what you did. That took courage. Not many would have defied a noble like that."

The vendor ducked his head before bowing deeply to the royal. "And not many nobles would have stuck up for a peasant," he returned before melting into the dispersing crowd.

Arthur stood, frozen by the man's words. Len was right, not many nobles would stand up to see that the "commoners" were treated fairly. The liberties taken upon the poor class had made him uncomfortable when he was a young prince, and only had become worse as he had grown older. By the time Merlin had come along, he'd hidden that indecisiveness behind an arrogant façade (well, mostly a façade, he'd been fairly arrogant). Merlin had soundly knocked him out of that thinking and even when he'd fought tooth and nail to keep his masks, the warlock just wouldn't allow it.

Idiot. His idiot, but still an idiot.

He couldn't wait to tell Merlin just what—Merlin!

Clutching the basket tighter, Arthur set off at a dead run back to the castle. He couldn't believe that…just how much of an idiot… how could he have for one second forgotten that he didn't know what was happening with Merlin? He needed, _needed_ to know how Merlin was now that those simpletons were dealt with.

The gods help anyone who stood in his way.

End Ch. 9

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><p>AN: And I know, we were all hoping for something worse, but Arthur is confined by the restraints of his father who cares more about the nobles than the commoners. Arthur is going to be chafing under his father's rule because he has been king and has been allowed to do things his way. We'll see what he can do about it. It was fun though, to let those dunderheads hang themselves though. And to **Wisperwind's **question, I debated long and hard about that and finally decided that no, it won't be, but they are going to be touchy-feely, obsessed with each other because frankly, if I were them, and I died and came back, I would be out of whack for a looong time. I might later go back and write an offshoot which is Merthur, but that will have to come after this badboy!

As always, I hunger for your reviews!


	10. Just Who is to Blame?

**A/N: So I have decided that Protective!Arthur is my favorite Arthur (at least for now) and that no one should mess with Merlin if they know what's good for them! Thank you to all of you who reviewed! I check every day (sometimes several times) to see if you guys gift me with any more happy thoughts. I love them all!**

**Disclaimer: Arthur and Merlin would have lived on forever if it had been mine!**

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><p><strong>Ch. 10-Just Who is to Blame?<strong>

_Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin!_

Most other thoughts were driven from his head, the need to see his warlock overpowering them. Why had he stayed away this long? Why had he allowed those three to distract him? He should have just sent them straight to the dungeons and dealt with them later! Merlin was infinitely more important and he allowed them to come first.

No, justice for Merlin, those people in the square, and countless others who would not step forward had to be dispensed and that, annoyingly (because of the delay) was his job. Was it not just yesterday that Arthur stated that they must stay the course for now? How was Merlin nearly being killed on his third day in Camelot staying the course? The blond royal knew that his warlock attracted trouble like Gwaine attracted woman (sometimes worse) but this was ridiculous!

He should see to informing his father of exactly what had taken place in the square. Undoubtedly by now rumors were circulating like wildfire and word had reached the inner workings of the citadel. If they hadn't, then that would certainly change when those three morons were escorted to the dungeons. Arthur doubted it would take that long though; the guards were terrible gossips. Though some where likely going to be avoiding him seeing as they had done nothing to prevent Merlin's beating. The blond royal knew that it had been no-win situation for them. The three men were nobles, terrible ones to be sure, but still nobles. It could have cost them more than their livelihoods if they had intervened. Still, the king-prince had every intention of making it absolutely clear that something of this caliber was _never_ to happen _ever_ again. If it did, and Arthur discovered the guards acting as they had today, well…

Hell to pay didn't even begin to cover it.

Despite his father's likely reaction over the situation, Arthur could not steer himself away from Gaius's chambers. His body eerily pointed him in that direction, hardly consulting his brain on the matter and there were many a servant who had to leap out of his way as he barreled through the castle, basket still clutched to his chest.

His breakneck pace soon brought him skidding to halt in front of the physician's chambers. He paused, forcing himself to take several deep breaths and count to ten twice before he felt even somewhat in control of himself. Merlin being hurt or in danger drove the prince-king crazy faster than anything else could and to know that this happened when the dark-haired man was currently outside his protection was doing little to help that. Gaius didn't know that (not yet anyway, he would soon find out) and for now he had to appear…normal.

Damn.

Drawing in one last fortifying breath, Arthur knocked on the chamber doors before letting himself in, alerting the physician, but not drawing him away from his work. The older man did not spare him a glance, carefully completing his work on bandaging Merlin's head. Thomas did look up from where he was cradling the other man's head, nodding to the king-prince. Arthur did not speak, setting the basket at the end of the work table and coming around to (future) manservant's side.

His initial thought in the alleyway was not negated in anyway; in fact, Arthur would say Merlin seemed more of a mess now than before! His shirt had been removed and most of his chest was hidden under tightly wrapped bandages. The prince-king held in a wince, knowing that meant that he might have a broken rib or two (unless Gaius was just being overly cautious) and that they were necessary, but also knowing that so much pressure on the bruises the bandages were hiding would be painful. No-win there. The purple swelling from his eye was now so dark it could be mistaken for black. Merlin would not be able to see properly for some time. His left arm was tightly bound to his chest which made Arthur think that it was likely broken. Other cuts and bruises marred his normally pale now milk white skin and even in his unconscious state (had he woken at all?) the king-prince could see how his mouth tightened in pain.

"You may lay his head down now," Gaius's command broke him from his contemplations. Thomas obeyed, easing the dark head down upon the cot. No one spoke for a moment, merely stared at the battered youth before them. It took the physician rising to his feet, marching towards his work bench and slamming his hands down upon it for the silence to be broken. Arthur tried not to flinch (he had never, ever seen Gaius do such a thing) and Thomas could not contain a small yelp that accompanied his own.

Gaius bowed his head and his voice, though faint, rang out in the silent chamber. "Forgive my temper, I did not mean to startle either of you. Thomas, thank you for help, it was much appreciated."

"Anything I can do to help," Thomas replied, eyeing the man carefully.

"There is nothing more than can be done at the moment. It would be best if you were to attend to your duties for Prince Arthur," the older man stated.

Thomas glanced at Arthur, who nodded, and then left, the door snicking shut quietly behind him. The king-prince waiting a few beats, but when it seemed as though Gaius was not going to move, he cautiously approached, laying a hand on a tense shoulder.

"Gaius?" Echoing with the agony of not protecting his friend well enough was the pain of letting this man down. In many, many, far too many to count, ways Gaius was more of a father to him than Uther. He could name several instances in his life where he had spent more time with this man here than the man who had sired him. And just what did that say about his life? Even if Gaius did not know it, Arthur had let him down by not protecting Merlin. The king-prince was ready to say to hell with the whole thing, snatch up his warlock (with Gaius, Gwen, Leon, and probably Morgana as well) and leave. Perhaps elsewhere they could find a moments peace to straighten this all out.

But no, that was a fool's dream and though he had been accused of being a fool many times (mostly by Uther) he knew that it would not happen. To protect the ones they loved, Arthur and Merlin would have to stay right here and that meant dealing with this and every other situation that would arise. They had done it once, he knew they could do it again, but right that moment he wasn't sure he had the will to face that future.

"His mother asked me to look after him," the physician said, his head still bowed. "Some job I have done so far."

"That's enough!" Arthur said firmly. That defeated tone would not be tolerated. This was not Gaius's fault in any form or fashion! Grasping the older man's shoulders gently, but firmly, he turned the man to face him. Tired hazel eyes met his in surprise. "This is not your fault. If anyone is to blame in this it's those imbeciles masquerading as nobles. Not you and certainly not Merlin. From what I could see he did his level best to get away from them. If anyone is to shoulder some of the blame it is myself."

"You, sire?" Gaius asked in astonishment.

Arthur nodded, releasing the physician to return to sit at Merlin's side. "I should have anticipated that they would not be satisfied with the punishment I doled out and seek to quench their own sadistic needs." The blond royal smashed his fist against his knee, relishing the minor pain. His voice went soft, "I'm so sorry, Merlin. I can't seem to get this right." He hoped that despite his unconscious state, that the dark-haired man could hear him. It was soothing, watching Merlin breathe as every movement of his chest reminded the king-prince that the man was still alive. How long he sat there, watching the slow rise and fall of the warlock's breathing, he did not know. Thoughts of reporting to his father, to seeing to the idiots' punishment, to the marketplace, the guards, Gaius all drifted away, unimportant in comparison to that simple movement of Merlin's chest.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Arthur's own breathing slowly changed to match and he clenched his hands around his knees to keep from reaching for his warlock. Stay the course. Stay the course. He was truly beginning to hate that phrase. What was the point of staying the course when everything seemed so determined to _leave_ the course? What good was foreknowledge when already the events that had come to pass differed greatly? What was next? Uther would try to poison him instead of some evil sorceress? Morgana would never leave Camelot? Lady Helen wouldn't turn out to be an imposter? No Great Dragon? No griffin? Or would it be worse and they would have all of that at once?

Just…why couldn't they have a few moments to themselves? Why weren't they allowed a chance to mend the wounds between them (Arthur's death and Merlin's secrets) so they did not fester? It was difficult enough not to have Merlin at his side before his death. Now it felt as though someone had severed a limb and he could still feel the phantom pains from it. Why couldn't he just have Merlin?

A wrinkled hand settled on his head, startling him as it carded through his blond locks.

"If Merlin and I are not to blame," Gaius began, "then neither are you, sire." Arthur gazed up at the wizened face, astonished to find a small smile there. "A great king is wise, but not all knowing. Even you cannot anticipate all outcomes. Those," here he paused, fumbling for the correct words.

"Morons?" Arthur offered, a smile beginning to form.

That won him a chuckle. "Those _morons_ could just as easily have left Merlin alone. The fact that they chose not to do so was exactly that—their choice. The fault lies with them and them alone." The hazel eyes turned stern. "I will hear no more of you blaming yourself. If I cannot, you cannot."

Arthur wasn't sure how Gaius did it, but somehow the weight on his shoulders eased. Just like magic.

The magic of words, not the swirly gold kind. In many ways, the former was more important than the latter.

"Thank you, Gaius," he said sincerely.

The physician gave him an odd look that the prince-king thought he probably deserved it. Just when was the last time he had thanked the older man for all that he did? Too long, obviously if the calculating glint that was being directed his way was anything to go by. Probably everything he had been doing, now that Gaius had the mind to give it thought, was cause for suspicion. But then again, when had the last time Gaius had taken such liberties as putting his hands in Arthur's hair?

"It's I who should be thanking you, sire, for it is very likely that you saved Merlin's life."

Arthur nodded, rising from seat. "Just returning the favor," he stated cryptically, knowing it would drive the other man batty. Perhaps this 'knowing what's going to happen next' bit wouldn't be too bad. Except, now he had to go face the king. Joy.

"Keep me informed on his progress." With that last command he swept out, content to in the knowledge that his Merlin was in capable hands.

_**~Arthur~**_

Arthur did not rush to throne room, needing time to collect himself. Merlin was, ultimately, going to be alright if Gaius's reactions were anything to judge by, but in a great deal of pain for some time. Arthur himself had suffered many of the same injuries, usually individually, sometimes in a combination, but the sheer brutality of what his warlock suffered was threatening to send his blood boiling once more. He halted before the great doors, taking a deep breath. Calm was the key. Ranting to his father over the moronic behavior of the idiot nobles would not do him (and by extension Merlin) any favors. His lips quirked. Maybe he would rant to Morgana later, he was certain she would have a few choice things to add.

One last breath and he squared his shoulders, nodding to the guards to open the doors. His father was seated at the long table, various papers scattered before him, obviously having just finished lunch if the empty plate was any indication. Uther glanced up and, seeing Arthur striding his way, set the document aside and rose to meet him.

"I would like an explanation as to why there are three nobles in the dungeons." The callous, cold disregard that colored his tone set Arthur's teeth on edge and as much as he wanted to lash out, he knew he had to tread carefully.

"I'm surprised they are already there, I expected them to be out there for a few more hours at least," he returned, halting just a few feet from his father. "Then again, the people in the marketplace had already done a rather good job of cleaning up."

Uther's eyes narrowed. "There was some sort of disturbance in the marketplace, was there not? What on earth do they have to do with it?"

Arthur grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest to keep from tugging at his ears. Damn Merlin! "They were the cause of it. Apparently, in the pursuit of a man, they destroyed half the marketplace."

"What did the man do? Steal? Start a fight?" the king demanded.

"Nothing. In fact, from what I can see, he did his very best to lead them away from the more crowded areas of the marketplace and in doing so managed to minimize the damage done somewhat," Arthur replied, doing his best to look thoughtful. He was going to do his best to paint these men in the blackest of lights so they might find themselves not only unwelcome with the knight's training, but within all of Camelot itself.

"But why where they pursuing him?" Uther wondered, circling his son as he spoke.

The blond royal hated when Uther did that; it made him feel like a rabbit about to be pounced on by a wolf. A rabid wolf at that. "I'm afraid that it stems from an incident yesterday. They were throwing knives at Thomas, my manservant, who, despite the shield was in no way prepared for such actions. Before I could intervene the man, Merlin, tried to stop them, calling them out on their behavior. I managed to keep it from escalating further at that point and sent Merlin to the dungeons for the night and into the stocks several hours today."

Unable to stand the circling any longer, Arthur broke away, crossing over to the window to gaze at the busy courtyard below. "I know that such actions would normally bring a harsher punishment, but he only did so to protect my manservant. I believed that it was only fair to show some leniency." He looked slide his eyes over to his father who had come to join him in his watching. "After all, it was only his second day in Camelot as I understand it."

"In this case, I believe you are right," Uther agreed after a long pause and the king-prince prayed that his shock was not so plainly written on his face. Really? _Really?_ Uther actually _agreed_? He could not keep from discretely pinching himself to make certain that—ow!—yes, this was actually happening.

"That peasant must know that such actions should not be tolerated. Respect must be maintained. One can afford to be lenient, if the message is still delivered."

Never mind; Uther was discussing Merlin, not the morons! False alarm.

"I hope that you made certain he understood what should have been the true length of his punishment?" the king asked, turning back to his paperwork.

Arthur remained by the window, reminding himself not to grit his teeth too tightly for fear of cracking them. Though, if he did, perhaps he could get Merlin to fix them. Had his warlock ever done that before? "I did. Though apparently Sir Orvin, Estern and Val did not agree with my decision and decided to take it into their own hands."

"The trainees we spoke of yesterday? What exactly did they do?"

"The very ones," Arthur kept his gaze upon the courtyard so that any trace of anger that might reveal itself would hopefully go unnoticed. "They confronted Merlin in the marketplace and then proceeded to chase him through it, destroying anything that was in their path. They trapped him in a dead end alley and…" Like the Great Dragon, Arthur could feel his fury rising, roaring for the blood of those men. Voicing it…voicing it made it real. Deep down he hoped that this was just a nightmare that he would be able to escape if he only could wake up. That Merlin was able to do his chores for Gaius without being assaulted by men who were supposed to be upholding the knight's code.

But no. They were never that lucky.

"Merlin is with Gaius now," he finally continued, knowing that his father would grow impatient. "Their attack left him with a broken rib, broken arm and too many cuts and bruises to count. They treated him as though he were a murdering bandit." He could not prevent the venom from creeping into his voice towards the end. Others might think that he was over-exaggerating the situation (he was not) with that last comparison but he would stand by it. "I doubt that this is the introduction to Camelot that Gaius had been hoping for." He glanced towards his father, irritated to see him focusing on the reports before him. "Merlin is his ward."

"No doubt it isn't," his father commented. "Did they confess?"

Arthur smirked. "They did."

"And what did you deem their punishment should be?"

"They were to clean the marketplace themselves and calculate the total cost of the damage they incurred. It would be their responsibility to pay for it. Since they did not believe that Merlin's punishment was stringent enough, I would have them suffer it as well. They will spend time in the dungeons and then in the stocks. Hopefully they will think twice about defying me again," he said, not bothering to hide his arrogance at the end. It was the sort of arrogance his father would expect and approve of.

It was just too bad he could not (as of yet) do what he truly wished to the men.

Uther smirked. "Poetic. I approve; you handled that very well. Hopefully they will learn not to defy the crown." Gathering the documents together his father stood, glancing briefly Arthur's way. "I will be dining with Lady Helen tonight, I would like you to join us."

And just like that, all thoughts of revenge were stricken from the king-prince's mind. Lady Helen was here, already? But it was too soon! Wasn't it?

Arthur would be the first to admit that some of the details of Merlin and his first 'adventure' together had somewhat faded over time. Though, he had believed, he had remembered the most important ones. In the long run, what he had and Merlin had gone through together was the priority, not the tinny-tiny details such as when Lady Helen had arrived.

Then again, who expected to live through their life twice?

"That is unfortunate," he managed to choke out, hoping his voice did not sound as strangled as he thought. "While I appreciate the offer, I am afraid that I will have to decline. I have work that I have delayed in completing for far too long as it is and with what happened this afternoon, it has only gotten worse. I wish to finish as much of it as I can tonight so that I may be free to fully enjoy the performance. Tomorrow is it?"

"Yes," the king confirmed.

"Then I best get to it right away. I'm certain it is a performance that no one will forget. Send Lady Helen my regards and let her know that I will be fully prepared for her at the feast."

Uther eyed him, no doubt searching for a lie. Arthur wasn't lying; he actually had a large stack of work that was reaching teetering proportions on his desk. He doubted he would tackle it tonight, but he was under no circumstances going anywhere near Lady Helen. As it stood, it would not be the first time that Arthur had skipped out on private meals with important guests though he do not usually do so directly, choosing to simply not show up. It was a habit that had irritated Uther to no end and more than once Arthur had been on the receiving end of his scathing tongue for his disregard of his duties.

If he was forced to hide out, maybe he could do so in Merlin's room. He would even take the work with him!

"I should insist," 'Please don't. Please don't. Please don't,' Arthur chanted mentally, "but when you are finally showing some initiative with your work, I can hardly disapprove." Doubtful considering the disapproval that was leaking through the man's tone. "I will give Lady Helen your regards and let her know that you are looking forward to her performance."

Arthur bowed. "Thank you, father."

"Well get to then."

As dismissals went, it was not the most polite, but very few people had ever termed Uther Pendragon as such. The king-prince bowed, taking his leave at the fastest walk he could manage without making it seem as though his greatest wish was to break into a run. He didn't dare to pause until two corridors later, sliding into an alcove hidden behind a tapestry. Releasing a sigh that felt as though it was rent from the tips of his toes, he slumped against the wall.

That could have gotten terribly. Arthur cringed at the thought of the numerous ways that it could have blown up in his face. His father could have ordered him to release the morons and he wasn't certain he would have been able to follow through with it. If he had, the men would come to regret it (he would make absolutely certain of that) so in reality, it was perhaps better for them that they were in the dungeons. Arthur wasn't certain how long his father would allow him to keep them incarcerated, but the king-prince intended to drag it out as long as possible. Maybe he would release them to the stocks on the hottest day. Severe burns might drive the message home.

_You don't mess with Merlin._

That was the message Arthur was sending, even if everyone else was hearing something else. That was their problem, not his.

Then again, it could have gone better. Uther hadn't banished them from Camelot yet.

Another sigh and then he gathered himself up. No use worrying about it now; the seeds had been sown. Hopefully they bared vengeful fruit. Peeking from his hiding place to make certain that the corridor was still deserted, he strode off to his chambers. There was no way he could visit Merlin again this soon (damnit!) without someone finding it odd (did he really care?) and he did not want to draw any more attention to his (future) manservant than had been already. Besides, it was probably best to make his excuse into a reality if he didn't want trouble from the king.

Best not to risk that just yet.

Arthur hoped that Thomas had sent up a cold lunch as he was unaccountably starving. Surprising considering the knots his stomach was twisted into. He did find lunch when he entered his chambers.

Unfortunately he found something else.

"Hello, Arthur. I heard the most interesting news from the marketplace today," Morgana greeted with a smile that the prince-king swore was just an edge too toothy, "Know anything about that?

_Damnit!_

End Ch. 10

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><p>AN: And so he has navigate the minefield that is Uther Pendragon only to run into Morgana! I love giving Arthur a hard time and if you haven't learned from my stories by now, that's true for a lot of characters. Let me know what you think! I'm anxiously waiting.


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